LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


MASTER 


TALES 


MODERN    GHOSTS 


SELECTED  AND  TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  WORKS 
OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT,  PEDRO  ANTONIO 
DE  ALARCON,  ALEXANDER  L.  KIELLAND,  LEO- 
POLD KOMPFRT,  GUSTAVO  ADOLFO  BEG 
QUER,  AND  GIOVANNI  MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI 


WITH    INTRODUCTION  BY 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS 


HARPER   6-  BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW      YORK      AND      LONDON 


MM 


Copyright,  1890,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  right*  rttervtd. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION.  By  GEORGE  WILLIAM 
CURTIS vii 

THE  HORLA.  From  the  French  of  GUY  DE 
MAUPASSANT.  Translated  by  JONATHAN 
STURGES  i 

SIESTA.  By  ALEXANDER  L.  KIELLAND.  Trans- 
lated from  the  German  version  of  M.  VON 
BORCH,  by  CHARLES  FLINT  MCCLUMPHA  .  59 

THE  TALL  WOMAN.  From  the  Spanish 
of  PEDRO  ANTONIO  DE  ALARC^N.  Trans- 
lated by  ROLLO  OGDEN 79 

ON  THE  RIVER.  From  the  French  of  GUY 
DE  MAUPASSANT.  Translated  by  JONA- 
THAN STURGES 113 

MAESE  PEREZ,  THE  ORGANIST.  From 
the  Spanish  of  GUSTAVO  ADOLFO  BECQUER. 
Translated  by  ROLLO  OGDEN  .  .  .  .129 

FIORACCIO.  From  the  Italian  of  GIOVANNI 
MAGHERINI  -  GRAZIANI.  Translated  by 
MARY  A.  CRAIG 157 

THE  SILENT  WOMAN.  From  the  German 
of  LEOPOLD  KOMPERT.  Translated  by 
CHARLES  FLINT  MCCLUMPHA  ....  189 


220878 


INTRODUCTION. 


.  IN  the  first  paper  of  the  Sketch-Book,  which 
describes  the  Atlantic  voyage,  Irving  says 
that  when  the  weather,  which  had  been  fair, 
changed  to  a  wild  and  threatening  aspect, 
the  passengers  gathered  towards  evening  in 
the  cabin,  where  the  gloom  was  made  ghast- 
lier by  the  dull  light  of  a  lamp,  and  every 
one  told  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  disaster. 
On  the  longer  voyage,  on  which  we  are 
embarked,  when  our  thoughts  are  turned  to 
the  night  side  of  nature,  as  Robert  Dale 
Owen  called  it,  we  likewise  are  all  apt  to 
fall  to  telling  the  grewsome  tales  which  are 
known  as  ghost  stories.  They  have  a  strange 
and  subtle  fascination.  The  imagination, 
quickened  by  suggestions  of  mysterious 
sounds  and  supernatural  presences,  fills  the 
young  listener  with  horror,  and  his  older 


Viii  INTRODUCTION. 

companions  with  a  sense  of  mystery  and  awe. 
For  the  child  the  upward  path  to  bed  through 
darkened  passages  and  solitary  halls  is  peo- 
pled with  terrors  worse  than  dragons  and 
visible  monsters,  for  they  are  phantoms  of 
dread  against  whose  malign  power  there  is 
no  sovereign  amulet. 

The  sufferings  of  the  child  sent  severely 
to  encounter  all  alone  such  fears  and  fig- 
ments of  the  fancy  are  indescribable.  They 
are  recalled  through  the  actual  trials  of  later 
years  as  more  grievous  and  appalling  than 
they,  and  many  a  man  and  woman  pities  the 
forlorn  little  figures  that  once  they  were,  cow- 
ering and  shivering  in  that  early  purgatory 
of  terror  which  the  ghost  story  created. 
Later  they  begin  to  ask  whether  those  har- 
rowing apprehensions,  that  inexplicable  awe, 
were,  after  all,  only  fanciful.  The  man,  of 
whom  the  child  is  father,  as  he  grows  wiser 
comes  to  learn  that  all  he  knows  is  that  he 
knows  little.  He  sees  the  succession  of  the 
seasons,  the  systole  and  disastole  of  the 
visible  heart  of  beauty,  but  the  secret  of  its 
life  still  hides  from  his  gaze.  If  one  enlight- 
enment conceives  the  tortoise  on  which  the 
elephant  stands,  another  advances  to  proto- 
plasm, but  no  further. 

"Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting." 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

The  most  refined  psychological  speculation 
may  extend  the  range  of  observation.  But 
the  "mocking  laughter"  of  desert  places, 
the  cry  of  the  banshee,  the  sudden  impres- 
sion of  a  presence,  the  strange  and  fanciful 
popular  superstitions,  as  they  are  called,  in 
the  same  way  that  unapprehended  physical 
conditions  are  sagely  called  nervous  prostra- 
tion— what  is  the  key  to  them  all  ?  What  is 
a  hallucination  ?  Who  shall  say  conclusive- 
ly that  it  is  the  thing  that  is  not  ?  And  if  it 
be,  whence  is  it,  and  why  ? 

The  literature  of  ghosts  is  very  ancient. 
In  visions  of  the  night,  and  in  the  lurid  va- 
pors of  mystic  incantations,  figures  rise  and 
smile,  or  frown  and  disappear.  The  Witch 
of  Endor  murmurs  her  spell,  and  "an  old 
man  cometh  up,  and  he  is  covered  with  a 
mantle."  Macbeth  takes  a  bond  of  fate, 
and  from  Hecate's  caldron,  after  the  appa- 
rition of  an  armed  head  and  that  of  a  bloody 
child,  "  an  apparition  of  a  child  crowned, 
with  a  tree  in  his  hand,  rises."  The  wiz- 
ard recounts  to  Lochiel  his  warning  vision, 
and  Lochiel  departs  to  his  doom.  There 
are  stories  of  the  Castle  of  Otranto  and 
of  the  Three  Spaniards,  and  the  infinite 
detail  of  "  singular  experiences,"  which 
make  our  conscious  daily  life  the  frontier 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

and  border-land  of  an  impinging  world  of 
mystery. 

But  these  stories  have  no  conscious  law. 
They  are  like  fantastic  or  horrible  dreams. 
Did  the  writer  suffer  from  nightmare?  Or 
are  they  but  fairy  tales  reversed  ?  For  airy 
Titania  has  some  evil  fate  given  us  the  Tall 
Woman,  and  tricksy  Ariel  have  we  exchanged 
for  Caliban  ?  There  is  indeed  a  record  of 
similar  recurring  phenomena  that  may  seem 
to  imply  some  law.  There  is  the  persistent 
story  of  the  friend  who  suddenly  appears  in 
the  room  or  at  the  door,  or  whom,  awaking, 
you  see  by  your  bedside,  only  to  learn  after- 
wards that  at  the  same  moment  in  a  distant 
land  he  died.  There  is  the  family  spectre, 
whose  appearance  foretells  death  to  the 
luckless  member  of  the  family  who  sees  it. 
Does  some  sudden  physical  pang,  some  mor- 
tal premonition,  recall  the  legend,  and  in- 
stantly he  believes  that  he  sees  the  messen- 
ger of  doom  ? 

The  fascination  of  this  realm  of  experi- 
ence, which  is  traditional  from  age  to  age, 
yet  always  elusive,  is  undeniable.  Few  men 
have  seen  ghosts,  or  will  confess  that  they 
have  seen  them.  But  almost  everybody 
knows  some  one  of  the  few.  Haunted  houses 
are  familiar  in  all  neighborhoods,  with  the 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

same  story  of  the  roistering  sceptic  who  will 
gladly  pass  the  night  alone  in  the  haunted 
chamber,  and  give  monsieur  the  ghost  a 
warm  welcome,  but  who,  if  not  found  dead 
in  the  morning,  emerges  pale  and  haggard, 
with  a  settled  terror  in  his  look,  and  his  lips 
sealed  forever  upon  the  awful  story  of  the 
night. 

Mansions  in  country  places  are  advertised 
for  sale  or  hire,  with  the  attraction  of  a  well- 
regulated  ghost,  who  contents  himself  with 
driving  up  at  midnight  with  a  great  clatter 
of  outriders,  and  rumble  of  wheels,  and  brisk 
letting  down  of  steps,  and  a  bustling  entrance 
into  the  house,  and  then  no  more.  Staid 
gentlemen  remember  in  their  youth  awaking 
in  a  friend's  house  in  the  summer  night  just 
in  time  to  see  the  vanishing  through  the  long 
window  of  a  draped  figure;  a  momentary 
pausing  on  the  balcony  outside;  the  sense 
of  a  penetrating,  mournful  look ;  then  a  van- 
ishing; and  at  breakfast  tha  cheery  question 
of  the  host,  "  Did  you  see  the  lovely  Lady 
Rosamond  ?"  and  a  following  tale  of  hapless 
love  and  woe. 

The  delirium  of  fever,  if  only  we  knew 
what  it  is,  and  an  unbalanced  mind,  and  an 
excited  imagination,  are  all  devices  more  or 
less  unsatisfactory,  and  as  mysterious  as  the 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

,ghosts  themselves,  to  explain  the  realm  of 
'ghost  or  fairy.  Where  these  cannot  be  as- 
sumed, dyspepsia  may  be  invoked  as  the 
witch  who  mingles  and  stirs  the  caldron. 

!But  science  loves  to  speculate  upon  so  an- 
cient and  strange  a  system  of  phenomena, 
or  statements  of  alleged  phenomena,  and  to 
try  to  reduce  to  order  and  marshal  in  well- 
disciplined  ranks  these  coy  and  evanescent 
hints  of  something  that  eludes  exactness  of 
1 1  observation  and  defies  acute  analysis.  The 
meritorious  effort  recalls  the  line  of  Shelley 
describing  the  clouds  as 

"Shepherded  by  the  slow  unwilling  wind." 

Science,  indeed,  is  not  unwilling.  Her 
ministers  are  ready  to  try  the  haunted  cham- 
ber, and  to  bring  the  Lady  Rosamond  to  the 
most  rigid  investigation.  But  will  she  smile 
upon  the  philosophers  and  surrender,  who 
has  only  looked  sadly  upon  the  poets  and 
disappeared?  The  Society  for  Psychical 
Research,  however,  is  not  daunted,  and  does 
not  despair  of  helping  the  sun  to  rise  upon 
the  night  side  of  nature.  Several  years  since 
it  began  to  collect  a  census  of  hallucina- 
tions, of  which  the  responsibility  was  as- 
sumed last  summer  by  the  International  Con- 
gress of  Experimental  Psychology  at  Paris. 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

The  object  is  twofold — to  obtain  a  mass  of 
facts  about  hallucination  which  may  serve 
as  a  basis  for  scientific  study  of  such  phe- 
nomena, and  also  to  ascertain  the  number 
of  persons  who  have  had  experience  of  them. 
The  question  of  the  census  sheet  is  very 
simple  :  "  Have  you  ever,  when  completely 
awake,  had  a  vivid  impression  of  seeing  or 
being  touched  by  a  living  being  or  an  inan- 
imate object,  or  hearing  a  voice,  which  im- 
pression, so  far  as  you  could  discover,  was 
not  due  to  any  external  physical  cause?" 
Some  eight  thousand  persons  in  England, 
France,  and  the  United  States  have  already 
responded,  and  the  congress  hopes  that  at 
its  next  meeting  in  England,  in  1892,  there 
may  have  been  not  less  than  fifty  thousand 
answers  collected.  Professor  William  James, 
of  Harvard  University,  has  been  selected  to 
superintend  the  American  branch  of  the 
census. 

No  more  timely,  striking,  and  interesting 
illustration  of  these  phenomena,  the  intima- 
tions, impressions,  apparitions,  which  are 
familiarly  described  as  supernatural,  can  be 
found  than  the  collection  of  little  tales  in  this 
volume.  It  is  the  most  modern  and  con- 
temporary contribution  to  the  literature  of 
ghosts,  selected  from  authors  in  various 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

parts  of  Europe — Norway,  France,  Spain, 
Austria,  Italy — all  of  them  masters  in  their 
way,  and  of  that  sympathetic  and  delicate 
lightness  of  touch  which  is  indispensable  to 
the  happiest  treatment  of  such  themes.  One 
of  the  writers,  Guy  de  Maupassant,  is  already 
well  known  in  this  country  from  the  little  col- 
lection of  tales,  The  Odd  Number,  and  from 
Mr.  Henry  James's  charming  essay  of  in- 
troduction. Another  name  which  will  have 
great  interest  for  many  readers  is  that  of 
Becquer,  a  Spaniard,  who  died  in  1870,  only 
thirty-four  years  old,  whose  tales  are  full  of 
the  sentiment  and  legend  of  his  country, 
and  some  of  whose  verses,  especially  the 
"Swallows,"  a  tenderly  passionate  love-song, 
breathing  the  sadness  of  the  poet's  life  and 
temperament,  have  been  very  felicitously 
translated  into  English.  Another  of  our 
authors,  an  Italian,  Giovanni  Magherini- 
Graziani,  is  still  a  young  man,  living  pleas- 
antly at  a  villa  near  Florence.  In  1871  he 
published  his  most  important  work,  a  life  of 
Michael  Angelo.  He  has  published,  also, 
two  or  three  small  volumes  of  tales  and  es- 
says, and  is  actively  engaged  in  literary 
work. 

The  tales  that  compose  this  volume  show 
how  universally  the  old  spell  of  "  the  super- 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

natural  "  still  lingers.     The  fair  Lady  Rosa- 
mond, vanishing  in  the  summer  moonlight 
on  the  balcony  of  a  New  England  country- 
house,  she  or  some  loathlier  denizen  of  the 
same  uncomprehended  sphere,  appears  on  a 
river  in  France  or  in  a  street  in  Spain.   The 
old  man  covered  with  a  mantle  still  cometh 
up.     The  child  crowned,  with  a  tree  in  his 
hand,  still  rises.    And  still  we  gaze  entranced,  ] 
and  like  the  child  shuddering  through  weird-  \ 
ly  peopled  shadows  to  his  solitary  chamber,  • 
we  are  conscious  of  the  uncanny  spell,  and 
of  the  spectral  realm  in  which  we  move. 

These  little  tales,  like  instant  photographs, 
bring  us  nearer  to  the  life  of  other  lands, 
and  apprise  us  that,  in  an  unexpected  sense, 
we  are  all  of  one  blood — a  blood  which  is 
chilled  by  an  influence  that  we  cannot  com- 
prehend, and  at  a  contact  of  which  we  are 
conscious  by  an  apprehension  beyond  that 
of  the  senses. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 
September,  1890. 


THE  HORLA. 

BY 

GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT. 


THE  HORLA. 


May  8th. 

WHAT  a  magnificent  day!  I  spent  the 
whole  morning  stretched  on  the  grass,  be- 
fore my  house,  under  the  great  plane-tree 
which  entirely  covers,  shelters,  and  shades 
it.  I  love  this  country,  and  I  love  to  live 
here,  because  here  I  have  my  roots,  those 
deep,  fine  roots  which  attach  a  man  to  the 
soil  where  his  forefathers  were  born  and 
buried,  which  attach  him  to  what  is  thought 
there  and  to  what  is  eaten,  to  its  customs  as 
to  its  dishes,  to  its  localisms  of  speech,  to  the 
peculiar  intonation  of  its  peasants,  to  the 
smell  of  its  earth,  of  its  villages,  of  its  very 
air. 


• 


GHOSTS. 

I  love  the  house  where  I  have  grown  up. 
From  my  windows  I  see  the  Seine,,  flowing 
by  my  garden ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  road, 
almost  on  my  own  property : — the  great,  wide 
Seine  that  goes  to  Havre  from  Rouen,  cov- 
ered with  the  passing  boats. 

To  the  left,  down  there,  Rouen — the  great 
city  of  blue  roofs  swarming  far  and  wide  be- 
low a  crowd  of  pointed  Gothic  bell-towers. 
These,  ponderous  or  slender,  are  innumer- 
able, overtowered  by  the  cathedral's  cast- 
iron  spire,  and  filled  with  bells  which  ring 
in  the  blue  air  on  fine  mornings.  Their 
sweet  and  distant  iron  humming,  their  bra- 
zen chant,  reaches  out  to  me,  brought  by  the 
breeze,  and  now  louder,  now  lower,  as  the 
breeze  now  wakes,  now  drowses. 

How  fine  it  was  this  morning ! 

About  eleven  o'clock,  I  remember,  a  long 
tow  of  ships  defiled  past  my  garden  railings. 
They  were  pulled  by  a  tug  the  size  of  a  fly ; 
it  groaned  and  vomited  forth  a  thick,  black 
snioke. 

Just  behind  two  English  schooners,  whose 
red  flag  waved  against  the  sky,  came  a  su- 
perb Brazilian  three-master,  quite  white,  ad- 


GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT.  3 

mirably  clean  and  shining.  This  ship  gave 
me  so  much  pleasure  that  I  saluted  her,  I 
don't  know  why. 

May  i 2th. 

For  some  days  I  have  had  a  little  fever; 
I  feel  unwell,  or  rather,  properly  speaking,  I 
feel  depressed. 

Whence  come  these  mysterious  influences 
which  change  our  happiness  into  discour- 
agement and  our  confidence  into  distress  ? 
One  would  almost  say  that  the  air,  the  invis- 
ible air,  was  full  of  unknowable  Powers,  to 
whose  mysterious  proximity  we  submit.  I 
awake  full  of  gayety,  with  desires  to  sing  in 
my  throat.  Why  ?  I  go  down  to  the  water- 
side, and  suddenly,  after  a  short  walk,  re- 
turn distressed,  as  though  some  misfortune 
awaited  me  at  home.  Why  ?  Is  it  a  shiver 
of  cold  which,  brushing  across  my  skin,  has 
unsettled  my  nerves  and  darkened  my  soul  ? 
Is  it  the  shapes  of  the  clouds,  or  the  colors 
of  the  day,  or  the  changeable  colors  of  things 
which  have  passed  in  through  my  eyes,  and 
have  troubled  my  thoughts  ?  Do  we  know  ? 
Everything  about  us,  everything  which  we 
see  without  observing,  everything  which  we 


4  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

brush  against  without  recognizing,  everything 
which  we  touch  without  feeling,  everything 
which  we  encounter  without  clearly  distin- 
guishing, may  have  upon  us,  upon  our  senses, 
and,  through  them,  upon  our  minds  and  upon 
our  hearts,  instant  effects  which  are  wonder- 
ful and  not  to  be  explained. 

Ah  !  but  it  is  deep,  this  mystery  of  the  In- 
visible !  No,  we  may  not  sound  it  with  our 
wretched  senses,  with  our  eyes — which  can 
perceive  neither  what  is  too  small  nor  too 
great,  nor  too  near  nor  too  far,  nor  the  in- 
habitants of  a  planet  nor  the  inhabitants  of 
a  drop  of  water.  And  we  may  not  sound  it 
with  our  ears — which  deceive  us,  transmit- 
ting air-waves  in  the  form  of  sonorous  notes. 
They  are  the  fairies  who  perform  the  miracle 
of  changing  movement  into  sound,  and  by 
this  metamorphosis  they  give  birth  to  music 
and  to  Nature's  dumb  agitation  the  power 
of  singing.  No,  we  may  not  sound  it  with 
our  sense  of  smell — feebler  than  that  of  the 
dog;  nor  with  our  taste — which  can  hardly 
discern  the  age  of  wine  ! 

Ah,  if  we  had  only  other  organs  which 
would  perform  in  our  favor  other  miracles 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  5 

like  that  miracle  of  music,  what  new  things 
we  should  discover  all  about  our  lives  ! 

May  1 6th. 

I  am  certainly  ill.  Last  month  I  was  so 
well !  I  have  a  fever,  a  dreadful  fever,  or 
rather  a  feeling  of  feverish  enervation  which 
causes  my  mind  to  suffer  as  much  as  my 
body.  I  experience  that  awful  sense  of 
some  menacing  danger,  that  apprehension 
of  coining  misfortune  or  approaching  death, 
that  curious  presentiment  which  is  no  doubt 
really  the  stroke  of  a  still  unrecognized  sick- 
ness germinating  in  body  and  in  blood. 

May  1 8th. 

I  have  just  been  to  consult  my  physician, 
for  I  was  not  able  to  sleep.  He  found  my 
pulse  rapid,  my  eye  dilated,  my  nerves  dis- 
turbed, but  no  alarming  symptoms.  I  must 
take  shower-baths  and  drink  a  little  bro- 
mide of  potassium. 

May  2$th. 

No  change.  My  condition  is  truly  curious. 
With  the  approach  of  evening  a  strange  anx- 
iety invades  me,  as  if  the  night  concealed 


6  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

for  me  some  dreadful  menace.  I  dine  quick- 
ly, then  tryHo  read,  but  I  do  not  comprehend 
the  words.  I  barely  distinguish  the  letters. 
Then  I  pace  my  drawing-room  backward 
and  forward,  under  the  oppression  of  a  con- 
fused and  resistless  fear,  the  fear  of  sleep 
and  the  fear  of  my  bed. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  I  go  up-stairs  to  my 
room.  As  soon  as  I  get  inside  the  door  I 
double-lock  it  and  I  push  the  bolts;  I  am 
afraid  ...  of  what  ? .  .  .  Hitherto  I  feared 
nothing. ...  I  open  my  closets,  I  look  under 
my  bed ;  I  listen.  ...  I  listen  for  what  ?  .  .  . 
Is  it  not  strange  that  a  simple  indisposition, 
a  difficulty  in  the  circulation  perhaps,  an 
irritated  nerve,  a  slight  congestion,  a  little 
disturbance  of  the  works  of  my  -delicate, 
imperfect  human  machinery,  can /out  of  a 
merry  man  make  a  melancholy  one — out  of 
a  brave  man  make  a  coward  ?  Then  I  go  to 
bed,  and  I  await  sleep  as  one  might  await  an 
executioner.  I  wait  with  terror  for  its  corn- 
ing. And  my  heart  beats,  and  my  limbs 
quiver,  and  my  whole  body  trembles  under 
the  warmth  of  the  bedclothes,  until  the  mo- 
ment when  I  fall  suddenly  into  slumber,  as 


GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT.  7 

a  man  might  fall,  to  drown  himself,  into  a  gulf 
of  stagnant  water.  I  do  not  feel  sleep  com- 
ing in  the  way  I  used  to  feel  it  coming — 
calmly.  For  this  sleep,  hidden  somewhere 
near  me,  is  perfidious,  and  it  watches  and 
will  soon  seize  me  by  the  head,  and  close 
my  eyes,  and  destroy  me. 

I  sleep  long — two  or  three  hours — then  a 
dream  —  no,  a  nightmare  grips  me  in  its 
arms.  I  feel  that  I  am  in  bed  and  that  I 
am  sleeping  ...  I  feel  it  and  I  know  it.  ... 
and  I  also  feel  that  some  one  approaches 
me,  looks  at  me,  touches  me,  mounts  upon 
my  bed,  kneels  upon  my  breast,  seizes  my 
neck  in  his  hands  and  presses  .  .  .  presses 
.  .  .  with  all  his  force,  to  strangle  me. 

I — I  writhe,  bound  fast  by  that  awful  pow- 
erlessness  which  paralyzes  us  in  dreams.  I 
desire  to  shout, —  I  cannot;  —  to  move, —  I 
cannot ; — I  try,  with  fearful  efforts,  panting, 
to  turn  myself,  to  throw  off  this  being  who 
is  crushing  and  suffocating  me ; — I  cannot. 

And  suddenly  I  awake,  wild,  covered  with 
perspiration.  I  light  a  candle.  I  am  alone. 

After  this  crisis,  which  recurs  every  night, 
I  sleep  at  last  calmly  until  dawn, 


8  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

June  2d. 

My  condition  is  still  worse.  What  is  the 
matter  with  me  ?  The  bromide  has  no  ef- 
fect; the  shower-baths  have  no  effect.  Just 
now,  in  order  to  tire  myself  out  (though 
Heaven  knows  I  am  languid  enough  already !) 
I  went  to  walk  in  the  forest  of  Roumare.  I 
thought  at  first  that  the  fresh,  buoyant, 
balmy  air,  full  of  the  perfume  of  herbs  and 
leaves,  was  pouring  new  blood  into  my 
veins,  new  energy  into  my  heart.  I  took  a 
wide  glade.  Then  I  turned  towards  La 
Bouille,  along  a  narrow  allee,  between  two 
armies  of  great  trees  which  built  a  thick, 
green,  almost  black  roof  between  the  sky 
and  myself. 

Suddenly  a  shiver  seized  me  —  not  a 
shiver  of  cold,  but  a  strange  shiver  of 
anguish. 

I  quickened  my  pace,  uneasy  at  being 
alone  in  the  wood,  terrified  without  reason, 
stupidly,  by  the  profound  loneliness.  All  at 
once  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  being  fol- 
lowed, that  some  one  was  treading  on  my 
heels,  on  the  point — on  the  point — on  the 
point  of  touching  me. 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  9 

I  turned  abruptly.  I  was  alone.  I  saw 
behind  me  only  the  straight,  wide  glade — 
empty,  high,  fearfully  empty;  and  in  front 
of  me  also  it  stretched  out  of  sight  just  the 
same — dreadful ! 

I  closed  my  eyes.  Why  ?  And  I  began 
to  turn  round  and  round  on  my  heel,  quickly, 
like  a  top.  I  came  near  falling.  I  opened 
my  eyes  again;  the  trees  danced;  the  earth 
swam ;  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down.  Then,  of 
course,  I  no  longer  knew  from  which  di- 
rection I  had  come  !  Fantastic  thought ! 
Strange  !  Fantastic  thought !  I  set  off  to 
the  right,  and  happened  into  the  same  av- 
enue which  had  led  me  to  the  middle  of  the 

forest. 

June  jd. 

The  night  was  horrible.  I  shall  go  away 
for  a  few  weeks.  A  little  journey  will  no 
doubt  set  me  on  my  feet  again. 

July  2d. 

At  home  again.  I  am  cured;  and,  be- 
sides that,  I  have  made  a  charming  trip.  I 
have  visited  Mont  Saint  Michel,  where  I 
had  never  been. 

What  a  vision,  when  one  arrives,  as  I  did, 


10  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

at  Avranches  towards  the  end  of  the  day! 
The  city  is  on  a  little  hill ;  a  guide  took  me 
to  the  public  garden  at  the  end  of  the  town. 
A  great  bay  stretched  away  before  me  out 
of  sight,  between  two  lonely  shores  which 
lost  themselves  far  off  in  the  mists ;  and  in 
the  midst  of  this  immense  yellow  bay,  be- 
neath a  golden  and  glittering  sky,  rose,  som- 
bre and  pointed,  a  strange  mount  in  the 
midst  of  the  sands.  The  sun  had  just  dis- 
appeared, and  against  the  still  flaming  hori- 
zon there  was  designed  the  profile  of  that 
fantastic  rock  which  bears  upon  its  summit 
a  fantastic  monument. 

By  daybreak  I  was  on  my  way  towards  it. 
The  tide  was  low,  as  yesterday  at  evening, 
and  I  watched  that  wonder-arousing  abbey 
growing  taller  and  taller  before  me  as  I  ap- 
proached. After  several  hours  of  walking  I 
reached  the  enormous  block  of  stones  which 
bears  the  little  town  dominated  by  the  great 
church.  Having  ascended  the  narrow  and 
steep  street,  I  entered  the  most  admirable 
Gothic  dwelling  which  has  ever  been  con- 
structed for  God  on  earth,  vast  as  a  city, 
full  of  low  passages  borne  down  by  heavy 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  It 

arches,  of  high  galleries  borne  up  by  slender 
columns.  I  entered  that  gigantic  granite 
jewel,  light  as  a  bit  of  lace,  covered  with 
towers  and  with  slender  belfries  linked  one 
to  the  other  by  fine-carved  arches.  They 
are  climbed  by  twisting  stair-ways,  and  they 
dart  into  the  blue  sky  of  day  and  into  the 
black  sky  of  night,  their  fantastic  heads 
bristling  with  chimeras,  with  Devils,  and 
with  strange  Beasts. 

When  I  reached  the  top  I  said  to  the 
monk  who  accompanied  me,  "  Father,  you 
must  be  well  off  here." 

He  answered:  "There's  a  great  deal  of 
wind,  Monsieur;"  and  we  fell  into  conversa- 
tion while  we  watched  the  rising  sea  spread 
over  the  sand  and  cover  it  with  a  steely 
cuirass. 

And  the  monk  told  me  stories — all  the 
old  stories  of  the  place  —  legends,  always 
legends. 

One  of  them  impressed  me  very  strongly. 
The  country  people,  those  of  the  mount, 
pretend  that  talking  is  heard  on  the  sands 
by  night,  then  the  bleating  of  two  goats,  the 
one  with  a  voice  which  is  high,  the  other 


12  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

with  a  voice  which  is  deep.  Unbelievers 
maintain  it  is  the  sea-birds'  crying,  which 
resembles  now  a  bleat,  and  now  a  human 
wail  •  but  belated  fishermen  swear  that  they 
have  met,  wandering  on  the  sands,  between 
two  tides,  about  the  little  city  cast  out  so 
far  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  an  old  shep- 
herd whose  head,  shrouded  in  a  cloak,  is 
always  invisible,  and  who  leads  behind  him 
a  he-goat  with  the  face  of  a  man,  and  a  she- 
goat  with  the  face  of  a  woman.  They  have 
long  white  hair,  and  they  talk  incessantly, 
quarrelling  together  in  an  unknown  tongue ; 
then  suddenly  they  cease  crying  and  begin 
to  bleat  with  all  their  might. 

I  said  to  the  monk  :  "  Do  you  believe  it?" 
He  murmured  :  "  I  do  not  know." 
I  continued :  "  If  there  really  existed  on 
the  earth  any  other  beings  beside  ourselves, 
how  is  it  possible  that  we  should  not  have 
known  them  long  ago  ?     How  should  you 
have  seen  them,  you  ?     How  should  I  not 
have  seen  them,  I  ?" 

He  answered :  "  Do  we  see  the  hundred- 
thousandth  part  of  what  exists?  For  in- 
stance, take  the  wind,  which  is  the  greatest 


GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT.  13 

force  in  nature,  which  knocks  down  men, 
lays  low  buildings,  tears  up  trees  by  the 
roots,  heaps  the  sea  into  mountains  of  water, 
destroys  coasts,  and  hurls  great  ships  upon 
the  breakers, — the  Wind  which  kills,  which 
whistles,  which  moans,  which  roars, — have 
you  ever  seen  it  ?  Can  you  see  it  ?  It  ex- 
ists, nevertheless." 

I  was  silent  before  this  simple  reasoning. 
This  man  was  a  wise  man  or  perhaps  a  fool. 
I  could  not  have  decided  which ;  but  I  was 
silent.  What  he  had  just  said  I  had  often 
thought. 

July  3d. 

I  have  slept  badly;  there  is  certainly 
something  feverish  in  the  air  here,  for  my 
coachman  suffers  from  the  same  complaint 
as  myself.  On  my  return  yesterday  I  no- 
ticed that  he  was  looking  curiously  pale.  I 
asked  him : — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Jean  ?" 

"  It  is  that  I  cannot  sleep,  Monsieur ;  my 
nights  eat  up  my  days.  Since  Monsieur 
went  away,  it  holds  me  like  a  charm." 

The  other  servants,  however,  are  well ;  but 
I  myself  am  in  great  fear  of  a  relapse. 


14  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

July  4th. 

Yes,  I  have  had  a  relapse.  My  old  night- 
mares have  returned.  Last  night  I  felt 
some  one  squatting  on  my  chest  with  his 
mouth  to  mine,  drinking  my  life  out  through 
my  lips.  Yes,  like  a  leech  he  drew  it  out  of 
my  throat.  Then  when  he  was  satiated  he 
arose,  and  I,  I  awoke,  so  nearly  murdered, 
so  exhausted,  so  broken,  that  I  had  no  lon- 
ger power  to  move.  If  this  continues  many 
days  more  I  shall  certainly  go  away  again. 

July  5th. 

Have  I  lost  my  reason  ?  That  which  has 
happened,  that  which  I  saw  last  night,  is 
so  strange  that  my  head  turns  when  I  think 
of  it! 

I  had,  as  I  now  do  every  evening,  locked 
my  door ;  then,  being  thirsty,  I  drank  half  a 
glass  of  water,  and  I  noticed  by  mere  chance 
that  the  water-bottle  was  full  up  to  the  glass 
stopper. 

After  that  I  went  to  bed  and  fell  into  one 
of  my  dreadful  slumbers,  from  which,  two 
hours  later,  I  was  drawn  by  a  shock  more 
awful  yet. 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  15 

Imagine  a  man  who  sleeps,  who  is  being 
murdered,  and  who  awakes  with  a  knife  in 
his  breast,  and  who  groans  covered  with 
blood,  and  who  cannot  breathe,  and  who  is 
dying,  and  who  does  not  understand.  It 
was  like  that ! 

Having  at  last  recovered  my  reason,  I 
again  felt  thirsty ;  I  lit  a  candle  and  I  went 
to  the  table  where  the  water-bottle  stood.  I 
raised  it,  tipping  it  over  the  glass ;  nothing 
came  out.  It  was  empty !  It  was  complete- 
ly empty !  At  first  I  did  not  understand ; 
then,  all  at  once,  I  experienced  so  terrible 
an  emotion  that  I  had  to  sit  down,  or  rather 
that  I  simply  fell,  upon  a  chair !  Then,  with 
a  start,  I  jumped  to  my  feet,  and  looked 
about  me  !  Then,  again,  I  sat  down,  dazed 
with  astonishment  and  with  fear,  before  the 
transparent  glass  !  I  glared  at  it  with  star- 
ing eyes,  trying  to  understand.  My  hands 
trembled  !  Had  some  one  really  drunk  that 
water  ?  Who — I  ?  I,  without  a  doubt.  It 
could  only  be  I.  Then  I  was  a  somnam- 
bulist, I  was  living,  without  knowing  it,  that 
mysterious  double  life  which  makes  us  won- 
der whether  we  are  in  ourselves  two  beings, 


1 6  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

or  whether  some  strange  being,  unknowa- 
ble and  invisible,  may  not  animate,  at  mo- 
ments when  our  will  is  weak,  our  bodies  cap- 
tive and  more  obedient  to  this  stranger  than 
to  us. 

Ah  !  who  will  understand  my  abominable 
anguish  ?  Who  will  understand  the  emo- 
tion of  a  man,  perfectly  sane,  well  educated, 
full  of  reason,  and  yet  contemplating  in  ter- 
ror, through  the  glass  of  a  water-bottle,  the 
disappearance,  while  he  slept,  of  a  little  wa- 
ter !  And  I  remained  there  until  morning, 
not  daring  to  go  back  to  bed. 

Jttly  6th. 

I  am  going  mad.  The  water  was  again 
drunk  by  some  one  last  night ;  or,  rather,  I 
drank  it ! 

But,  is  it  —  is  it  I?  Who  should  it  be? 
Who?  Oh,  my  God!  I  am  going  mad. 
Who  shall  save  me  ? 

July  loth. 

I  have  just  established  the  most  wonder- 
arousing  proofs. 

Yes,  I  am  mad  !     And  yet  ? 

On  the  6th  of  July,  before  going  to  bed, 
I  placed  some  wine,  some  milk,  some  water, 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  17 

some  bread,  and  some  strawberries  on  my 
table. 

Some  one  drank— I  drank — all  the  water, 
and  a  little  milk.  The  wine,  the  bread,  and 
the  strawberries  were  not  touched. 

On  the  ;th  of  July  I  made  the  same  ex- 
periment, with  the  same  result. 

On  the  8th  of  July  I  suppressed  the  water 
and  the  milk.  Nothing  was  touched  at  all. 

Finally,  on  the  9th  of  July,  I  put  only  the 
milk  and  the  water  on  my  table,  being  care- 
ful to  wrap  up  the  bottles  in  cloths  of  white 
muslin  and  to  tie  down  the  stoppers.  Then 
I  rubbed  my  lips,  my  beard,  my  hands,  with 
black-lead,  and  I  retired. 

The  invincible  slumber  seized  me,  soon 
followed  by  the  dreadful  awaking.  I  had 
not  stirred ;  my  very  sheets  bore  no  stains. 
I  rushed  to  the  table.  The  cloths  covering 
the  bottles  were  immaculate.  I  untied  the 
cords,  trembling  with  fear.  Some  one  had 
drunk  all  the  water !  Some  one  had  drunk 
all  the  milk  !  Oh,  my  God  ! . . . 

I  leave  to-day  for  Paris. 

July  I2th. 

Paris.     I  must  have  lost  my  head  com- 
2 


1 8  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

pletely  these  last  days.  I  have  been  un- 
doubtedly the  plaything  of  a  nervous 
imagination,  unless,  that  is,  I  am  really  a 
somnambulist,  or  that  I  have  been  subjected 
to  one  of  those  influences,  admitted  but  not 
yet  explained,  which  are  called  "  suggest- 
ions." In  any  case  my  perturbation  came 
near  insanity,  and  twenty-four  hours  of  Paris 
have  sufficed  to  put  me  on  my  feet  again. 

Yesterday,  after  taking  a  drive  and  making 
some  visits  which  caused  a  new,  revivifying 
air  to  pass  into  my  soul,  I  finished  the  even- 
ing at  the  Theatre  Frangais.  They  were 
playing  a  piece  by  Alexandre  Dumas  fils ; 
and  that  strong,  alert  spirit  completed  my 
cure.  Solitude  is  certainly  dangerous  for  an 
active  intelligence.  We  need  around  us  men 
who  think  and  talk.  When  we  are  long 
alone,  we  people  the  void  with  phantoms. 

I  returned  to  the  hotel  in  great  good  spir- 
its, along  the  boulevards.  Reminded  by  the 
jostling  of  the  crowd,  I  thought,  not  without 
irony,  of  my  terrors  and  imaginings  of  last 
week,  when  I  believed,  yes,  really  believed, 
that  an  invisible  being  was  dwelling  under 
my  roof.  How  easily  we  lose  our  heads, 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  19 

how  weakly  and  quickly  we  become  wild 
with  fear  the  moment  we  encounter  some 
little  incident  which  cannot  be  explained ! 

Instead  of  concluding  with  the  words: 
"The  reason  I  do  not  understand  is  that 
the  cause  as  yet  escapes  me,"  we  immedi- 
ately proceed  to  imagine  some  dreadful  mys- 
tery, some  supernatural  power. 

July  1 4th. 

Fete  de  la  Re'publique.  I  took  a  walk  in 
the  streets.  The  flags  and  the  fireworks 
amused  me  like  a  child.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
simply  an  absurdity — this  being  joyous  on 
a  fixed  date,  by  Government  decree.  The 
people  is  an  imbecile  herd,  now  stupidly  pa- 
tient, now  ferociously  rebellious.  Some  one 
says  to  it:  "Make  merry."  It  maker*  mer- 
ry. Some  one  says  to  it :  "  Go  and  fight 
with  your  neighbors."  It  goes  and  fights. 
Some  one  says  to  it :  "  Vote  for  the  Emper- 
or." It  votes  for  the  Emperor.  Then  some 
one  says  to  it:  "Vote  for  the  Republic." 
And  it  votes  for  the  Republic. 

Those  who  give  it  these  orders  are  fools, 
also ;  but  instead  of  obeying  men,  they  obey 


20  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

principles,  things  whose  stupidity,  whose  bar- 
renness, whose  falsity  appears  in  the  very 
name — Principles  !  Ideas  supposed  certain 
and  immutable  in  this  world  where  one  is 
sure  of  nothing,  where  even  light,  even  sound 
are  illusions,  merely  states  in  the  brain, 
merely  states  in  the  brain  ! 

July  i6th. 

Yesterday  I  saw  something  which  disturb- 
ed me  very  much. 

I  was  dining  with  my  cousin  Mme.  Sable, 
whose  husband  commands  the  7 6th  Chas- 
seurs at  Limoges.  At  dinner  there  were 
two  young  ladies,  and  the  husband  of  one  of 
them,  a  Doctor  Parent,  a  nerve  -  specialist, 
much  interested  in  the  extraordinary  devel- 
opments brought  to  light  by  the  experiments 
now  making  in  Hypnotism  and  Suggestion. 

He  gave  us  a  long  account  of  the  prodig- 
ious results  obtained  by  English  scientists 
and  by  the  physicians  of  the  school  at  Nancy. 

The  facts  which  he  advanced  appeared  to 
me  so  extremely  fantastic  that  I  declared 
myself  entirely  sceptical. 

"  We  are,"  he  maintained,  "  on  the  point 
of  discovering  one  of  Nature's  most  impor- 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  21 

tant  secrets — I  mean  to  say,  one  of  her  most 
important  terrestrial  secrets;  since,  of  course, 
she  hides  forever  others  quite  as  important 
up  there  in  the  stars.  Ever  since  Man  has 
been  able  to  think,  ever  since  he  has  been 
able  to  speak  and  write  his  thoughts,  he  has 
from  time  to  time  felt  brushing  against  him 
the  touch  of  a  mystery  which  is  impenetrable 
to  his  gross,  imperfect  senses;  and  he  has 
tried  to  supplement  this  weakness  of  his 
bodily  organs  by  an  effort  of  his  mind. 
While  his  intelligence  remained  in  the  rudi- 
mentary state  this  notion  of  phenomena,  all 
about  him,  yet  invisible,  took  on  shapes  of 
the  most  vulgar  terror.  From  it  were  born 
popular  beliefs  in  the  supernatural,  legends 
of  wandering  spirits,  of  fairies,  of  gnomes, 
of  ghosts  —  I  might  even  add,  the  vulgar 
'idea  of  God;  for  the  ordinary  conception 
of  a  workman-creator,  in  whatever  religion  it 
springs  up,  is,  of  all  the  inventions  of  the 
human  brain,  the  most  common,  the  most 
stupid,  the  most  unacceptable.  Nothing  is 
truer  than  Voltaire's  epigram:  'God  made 
man  in  his  own  image,  and  man  has  return- 
ed the  compliment.' 


22  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  But  about  a  century  ago  people  began 
to  have  dim  forebodings  of  something  new. 
Mesmer  and  several  others  started  us  on  an 
unexpected  track,  and  now,  and  especially  in 
the  last  three  or  four  years,  we  have  arrived 
at  wonderful  results." 

My  cousin,  as  unbelieving  as  myself, 
smiled.  Doctor  Parent  said  to  her :  "  May 
I  try  to  hypnotize  you,  madame  ?" 

"  Certainly  you  may." 

She  seated  herself  in  an  arm-chair,  and, 
trying  to  fascinate  her  gaze,  he  looked  at  her 
fixedly.  As  for  me,  I  felt  suddenly  troubled — 
my  heart  beating,  a  choking  in  my  throat. 
I  saw  the  eyes  of  Mme.  Sable  droop,  her 
mouth  work,  her  breast  heave.  At  the  end 
of  ten  minutes  she  slept. 

"  Put  yourself  behind  her,"  said  the  phy- 
sician. 

And  I  seated  myself  behind  her.  In  her 
hands  he  placed  a  visiting-card,  saying: 
"  This  is  a  mirror ;  what  do  you  see  in  it  ?" 

She  answered  :  "  I  see  my  cousin." 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"  He  is  twisting  his  mustache." 

"  What  now  ?" 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  23 

"He  is  taking  a  photograph  out  of  his 
pocket." 

"  A  photograph  of  whom  ?" 

"  Of  himself." 

It  was  true !  And  the  photograph  had 
been  sent  home  only  that  evening  to  my 
hotel. 

"  How  does  he  look  in  the  photograph  ?" 

"  He  is  standing  up,  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand." 

So  then  she  saw  in  this  card,  in  this  white 
card,  as  well  as  she  would  have  seen  in  a 
glass ! 

The  young  ladies,  very  much  frightened, 
cried :  "  Enough !  Enough  !  Enough  !" 

But  the  doctor  gave  her  an  order :  "  You 
will  rise  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning ; 
and  you  will  go  to  find  your  cousin  at  his 
hotel ;  and  you  will  beg  him  to  lend  you  five 
thousand  francs,  which  your  husband  has 
said  he  needs,  and  hopes  to  get  from  you 
when  he  comes  up  shortly  to  town." 

Then  he  awoke  her. 

While  returning  to  the  hotel  I  meditated 
on  this  curious  seance,  and  1  was  assailed  by 
doubts,  not  of  the  absolute,  the  indubita- 


24  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

ble  good  faith  of  my  cousin,  whom  I  have 
known  like  a  sister  from  childhood  up,  but 
of  a  possible  trick  on  the  part  of  the  doctor. 
Might  he  not,  at  the  same  time  with  his  vis- 
iting-card, have  held  before  the  sleeping  lady 
a  mirror  hidden  in  his  hand  ?  Professional 
prestidigitators  perform  equally  extraordina- 
ry feats. 

So  I  went  home  and  to  bed. 

But  this  morning,  about  half  after  eight, 
I  was  awaked  by  my  man,  who  said : 

"It  is  Mme.  Sabld.  She  asks  to  speak 
with  you,  sir,  immediately." 

I  dressed  in  all  haste,  and  I  bid  him  show 
her  in. 

Very  much  embarrassed,  she  sat  down, 
lowering  her  eyes,  not  lifting  her  veil ;  and 
she  said : 

"  My  dear  cousin,  I  have  to  ask  you  for  a 
great  favor." 

"What  is  it,  cousin?" 

"  I  hate  to  ask  you,  and  yet  I  must.  I 
need — I  need  five  thousand  francs ;  I  need  it 
very  much." 

"  Oh,  come  now ! — You  ?" 

"  Yes,  I.      Or,  rather,  my  husband.     He 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  2$ 

says  I  must  get  the  money  for  him  some- 
how." 

I  was  so  stupefied  that  I  stammered.  I 
asked  myself  if  this  were  not  a  joke  on  me 
which  she  was  playing  with  Doctor  Parent ; 
if  this  were  not  a  simple  farce  rehearsed  in 
advance,  and  very  well  acted. 

But,  when  I  looked  at  her  carefully,  all 
my  doubts  vanished.  She  trembled  with 
anguish,  the  proceeding  was  so  painful  for 
her ;  and  I  saw  that  her  throat  was  full  of 
sobs. 

I  knew  she  was  very  rich,  and  I  continued : 

"  What !  Your  husband  has  not  five  thou- 
sand francs  at  his  disposal  ?  Come  !  Think 
a  little.  Are  you  sure  he  told  you  to  ask 
me  for  it  ?" 

For  some  seconds  she  hesitated  as  though 
making  a  great  effort  to  remember,  then  she 
answered : 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  ...  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Has  he  written  ?" 

Again  she  hesitated,  reflecting.  I  divined 
how  she  was  tortured  by  the  working  of  her 
thoughts.  She  did  not  know.  She  knew 
simply  that  she  must  borrow  from  me,  for 


26  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

her  husband,  five  thousand  francs.  But  she 
gained  the  courage  to  lie. 

"  Yes,  he  wrote  to  me." 

"  When,  then  ?  You  said  nothing  to  me 
of  it  yesterday." 

"  I  got  the  letter  this  morning." 

"  Can  you  show  it  me  ?" 

"  No  ...  no  ...  no  ...  it  had  private 
matters  in  it  ...  too  personal  ...  I  ...  I 
burnt  it." 

"  Oh !  I  suppose  then  he's  been  getting 
into  debt." 

Again  she  hesitated ;  then  murmured : 

"I  do  not  know." 

I  announced,  abruptly : 

"  The  fact  is  at  the  moment  I  haven't  five 
thousand  francs  to  my  hand,  cousin." 

She  uttered  a  kind  of  suffering  cry. 

"  Oh,  oh !  I  beg  you,  I  beg  you  to  get 
it  somehow,  somehow."  .  .  . 

She  grew  excited,  clasped  her  hands  be- 
fore me  as  though  she  were  praying !  I 
heard  her  voice  change  tone ;  she  wept  and 
stammered  ;  she  was  tormented,  overpower- 
ed, dominated  by  the  irresistible  order  which 
had  been  laid  upon  her. 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  27 

"  Oh,  oh !  I  beg  you  ...  if  you  knew 
how  I  suffer.  ...  I  must  have  it  to-day." 

I  took  pity  on  her. 

"  You  shall  have  it,  and  very  soon,  I 
promise." 

"Oh,  thank  you!  thank  you!  You  are 
good." 

I  continued  : — "  Do  you  remember  what 
happened  at  your  house  last  night  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"Do  you  remember  that  Doctor  Parent 
put  you  to  sleep?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  he  ordered  you  to  come  to  me  this 
morning,  and  borrow  five  thousand  francs. 
And  at  this  moment  you  are  obeying  his 
suggestion." 

She  reflected  for  a  few  seconds,  and  an- 
swered : 

"  But  it's  my  husband  who  wants  it." 

For  an  hour  I  tried  in  vain  to  convince 
her. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  I  hurried  to  the 
Doctor.  He  was  on  the  point  of  going  out ; 
and  he  listened  to  me  with  a  smile.  Then 
he  said : — 


28  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  Do  you  believe  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  must." 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  cousin." 

She  was  already  dozing  in  a  long  chair, 
exhausted  with  fatigue.  The  physician  felt 
her  pulse,  looked  at  her  for  a  time,  his  raised 
hand  pointing  towards  her  eyes.  Little  by 
little  she  closed  them,  submitting  to  the  re- 
sistless strength  of  the  magnetic  power. 

When  she  slumbered : 

"Your  husband  has  no  longer  any  need 
of  five  thousand  francs.  You  will  therefore 
forget  that  you  have  asked  your  cousin  to 
lend  you  them;  and  if  he  speaks  to  you  of 
it,  you  will  not  understand  him." 

Then  he  awoke  her.  I  drew  out  a  pock- 
et-book. 

"  Here,  my  dear  cousin,  here  is  what  you 
asked  me  for  this  morning." 

She  was  so  surprised  that  I  did  not  dare 
to  insist.  Nevertheless,  I  tried  to  arouse 
her  memory;  but  she  denied  everything  with 
vehemence,  thought  I  was  making  fun  of 
her,  and  at  last  came  near  being  angry. 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  29 

There  it  is  ! — I  have  just  returned ;  and 
I  was  so  disturbed  by  this  experience  that 
at  luncheon  I  could  eat  nothing. 

July  igth. 

Several  people  to  whom  I  have  related 
this  adventure  have  made  fun  of  me.  I 
do  not  know  what  to  think.  The  wise  man 
says  :  "  It  may  be." 

July  21  st. 

I've  been  to  dine  at  Bougival;  afterwards 
I  went  to  the  Watermen's  Ball.  Decidedly 
everything  depends  on  circumstance  and 
place.  To  believe  in  the  supernatural  on 
the  island  of  La  Grenouilliere  would  be  the 
height  of  folly  indeed.  .  .  .  But  on  the  top 
of  Mont  St.  Michel  ?  .  .  .  But  in  the  Far 
East?  We  are  subject  fearsomely  to  the 
influence  of  what  surrounds  us.  Next  week 
I  shall  go  home. 

July  joth. 

I  arrived  yesterday.     All  well. 

August  ed. 

Nothing  new.  Beautiful  weather.  I  pass 
my  days  watching  the  Seine  flow. 


30  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

August  4th. 

Quarrels  among  the  servants.  They  say 
that  some  one  breaks  the  glass  at  night  in 
the  closets.  My  man  accuses  the  cook,  who 
accuses  the  laundress,  who  accuses  the  two 
maids.  Which  one  is  guilty?  It  would 
take  a  wise  man  to  say. 

August  6th. 

This  time  I  am  not  mad.  I  have  seen. 
...  I  have  seen !  .  .  .  I  have  seen !  .  .  .  I  can 
doubt  no  more.  ...  I  have  seen !  ...  I  am 
still  chilled  to  my  very  finger  -  nails.  ...  I 
am  still  afraid  to  the  very  marrow.  ...  I 
have  seen !  .  .  . 

I  was  taking  a  walk  about  two  o'clock,  in 
broad  daylight,  in  my  rose-garden, .  . .  along 
a  row  of  autumn  roses  which  are  already 
beginning  to  bloom. 

Pausing  to  look  at  a  Gdant  des  Batailles, 
which  bore  three  magnificent  buds,  I  saw, 
I  distinctly  saw,  quite  near  me  the  stem  of 
one  of  these  roses  bend  as  though  twisted 
by  an  invisible  hand,  then  break,  as  though 
that  hand  had  plucked  it !  Then  the  flower 
lifted  itself,  following  the  curve  which  would 
have  been  described  by  an  arm  carrying  it 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  3! 

to  a  mouth ;  and  it  remained  hanging  in  the 
empty  air,  alone,  motionless,  a  terrifying  red 
stain  three  paces  from  my  eyes. 

Maddened,  I  threw  myself  forward  to  seize 
it !  I  found  nothing ;  it  had  disappeared. 
Then  I  was  overcome  with  violent  anger 
against  myself,  since  a  man  who  is  serious 
and  reasonable  should  not  allow  himself  to 
have  such  hallucinations  as  this. 

But  was  it  really  an  hallucination  ?  I  turned 
to  look  for  the  stem,  and  I  discovered  it 
almost  immediately,  on  the  plant,  freshly 
broken,  between  the  two  other  roses  which 
remained  upon  the  tree. 

So  I  went  back  to  the  house  with  a 
troubled  soul;  for  now  I  am  certain  that 
near  me  there  exists  an  invisible  being  who 
lives  on  milk  and  on  water ;  who  can  touch 
objects ;  can  take  them  up  and  change  their 
places ;  whose  nature,  therefore,  though  im- 
perceptible to  our  sense,  is  material,  and  who, 
like  myself,  dwells  under  my  roof. . . . 

August  jth. 

I  slept  quietly.  He  drank  all  the  water 
in  my  bottle,  but  did  not  disturb  my  sleep. 


32  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

I  ask  myself  if  I  am  mad.  While  walk- 
ing just  now  along  the  river,  doubts  about 
my  reason  came  to  me ;  not  vague  doubts 
such  as  I  have  hitherto  experienced,  but 
doubts  precise  and  absolute.  I  have  seen 
lunatics,  I  have  known  some  who  remained 
intelligent,  clear-headed,  lucid  on  every  sub- 
ject save  one.  They  talked  clearly,  easily, 
profoundly,  then  suddenly  their  intelligence, 
striking  on  the  rock  of  their  monomania, 
there  ground  itself  to  pieces,  was  broken  up 
and  foundered  in  that  terrible,  furious  sea, 
full  of  heaving  waves  and  mists  and  squalls, 
the  sea  which  we  call  "  Madness." 

I  should  certainly  believe  that  I  was  mad, 
quite  mad,  if  I  were  not  so  entirely  self-con- 
scious, if  I  did  not  recognize  my  condition 
so  perfectly,  if  I  were  not  always  sounding 
it  by  an  analysis  which  is  so  completely 
clear.  I  am,  then,  only  a  man  who  suffers 
from  an  hallucination,  but  who  is  in  full  pos- 
session of  his  reason?  Some  trouble  has 
occurred  in  my  brain,  one  of  those  troubles 
which  psychologists  nowadays  endeavor  to 
note  and  particularize  ?  And  this  trouble 
has  induced  a  profound  lapse  in  my  intellect, 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  33 

in  the  order  and  logic  of  my  thoughts  ?  A 
similar  phenomenon  occurs  in  dreams,  where 
we  are  led  through  the  most  improbable  of 
phantasmagoria  without  feeling  a  shadow  of 
surprise,  simply  for  the  reason  that  the  veri- 
fying apparatus,  our  sense  of  control,  is 
asleep,  while  our  imaginative  faculty  wakes 
and  is  active.  May  it  not  be,  therefore,  that 
one  of  the  invisible  keys  of  my  cerebral 
piano  is  paralyzed  ?  People  very  often,  in 
consequence  of  an  accident,  lose  their  mem- 
ory of  proper  names,  or  of  verbs,  or  of  fig- 
ures, or  simply  of  dates.  That  the  various 
little  bundles  of  thought  are  specially  local- 
ized is  now  considered  proved.  Hence  what 
is  there  surprising  if  my  power  of  controlling 
the  unreality  of  certain  hallucinations  finds 
itself  at  the  present  moment  torpid  ? 

I  pondered  on  all  this  as  I  followed  the 
bank  of  the  river.  The  sun  covered  the 
stream  with  radiance,  made  the  earth  deli- 
cious, filled  my  eyes  with  love  for  life,  for 
the  swallows  whose  swift  motions  are  a  joy  to 
look  at,  for  the  grasses  by  the  water's  edge 
whose  rustling  is  a  joy  to  me  when  I  listen. 

Little  by  little,  however,  I  was  penetrated 
3 


34  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

by  a  strange  uneasiness.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  a  force,  an  occult  force,  benumbed  me, 
checked  me,  prevented  me  from  going  far- 
ther, called  me  back.  I  experienced  a 
mournful  feeling  that  I  must  return,  a  feel- 
ing like  that  which  oppresses  us  when,  hav- 
ing left  at  home  some  sick  person  whom  we 
love,  we  are  suddenly  seized  by  a  presenti- 
ment that  she  is  worse. 

So  I  turned  back,  against  my  will,  certain 
that  I  should  find  bad  news  at  home,  a  let- 
ter, or  a  telegram.  There  was  nothing,  and 
I  remained  more  surprised  and  uneasy  than 
if  I  had  again  seen  some  fantastic  vision. 

August  8th. 

I  passed  a  dreadful  evening  yesterday. 
He  no  longer  makes  his  presence  evident, 
but  I  feel  him  near  me,  spying,  watching, 
penetrating  me,  dominating  me,  more  terri- 
ble while  thus  concealed  than  if  he  mani- 
fested by  supernatural  phenomena  his  invis- 
ible and  constant  presence. 

I  slept,  however. 

August  yth. 

Nothing.     But  I  am  afraid. 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  35 

August  loth. 
Nothing.     What  will  happen  to-morrow  ? 

August  nth. 

Still  nothing  ;  I  cannot  stay  at  home  any 
longer  with  this  fear  and  these  thoughts  in 
my  soul  ;  I  shall  go  away. 

August  1  2th  :  10  P.  M. 

All  day  I  have  wanted  to  be  off  ;  I  could 
not  go.  I  wished  to  perform  an  act  of  free- 
will, very  easy  and  very  simple  :  —  going  out 
of  my  door  —  getting  into  my  carriage  —  driv- 
ing to  Rouen.  I  was  not  able.  Why  ? 


August 

When  one  is  attacked  by  certain  maladies 
all  the  powers  of  the  physical  being  seem 
broken,  all  the  energies  destroyed,  all  the 
muscles  relaxed,  the  bones  becoming  soft  as 
flesh  and  the  flesh  liquid  as  water.  I  experi- 
ence this  in  my  moral  state  after  a  strange 
and  appalling  fashion.  I  have  no  longer  any 
strength,  courage,  self-control,  no  power  to 
put  in  motion  my  own  will.  I  can  no  longer 
will;  but  some  one  wills  for  me,  and  I  obey. 


36  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

August  i^th. 

I  am  lost !  Some  one  is  in  possession  of 
my  soul  and  governs  it.  Some  one  orders 
all  my  acts,  all  my  movements,  all  my 
thoughts.  I  am  no  longer  anything  in  my- 
self ;  I  am  nothing  but  an  enslaved  and  ter- 
rified spectator  of  the  things  which  I  accom- 
plish. I  desire  to  go  out;  I  cannot — he 
does  not  wish  it,  and  I  remain,  frightened, 
trembling,  in  the  arm-chair  where  he  holds 
me  seated.  I  desire  simply  to  rise,  to  get 
up,  so  as  to  prove  that  I  am  still  my  own 
master.  I  cannot !  I  am  riveted  to  my  seat, 
and  my  seat  adheres  to  the  ground  with 
such  force  that  no  power  could  lift  us  up. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  I  must,  I  must,  I 
must  go  to  the  end  of  the  garden  and  pick 
some  strawberries  and  eat  them.  And  I  go. 
I  pick  the  berries  and  I  eat  them.  Oh,  my 
God ! — my  God !  If  there  be  a  God,  deliver 
me,  save  me,  help  me  !  Pardon  !  Pity ! 
Grace!  Save  me!  Oh,  what  suffering! 
what  torture  !  what  horror ! 

August  ijth. 
Yes,  this  is  the  way  in  which  my  poor 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  37 

cousin  was  possessed  and  dominated  when 
she  came  to  me  to  borrow  five  thousand 
francs.  She  submitted  to  a  strange  will 
which  had  entered  into  her  like  a  new  soul 
— like  a  new  parasite  and  dominant  soul. 
Is  the  world  ending  ? 

But  this  being  who  governs  me — what  is 
he,  this  invisible  ?  Who  is  he,  this  unknow- 
able, this  prowler  of  a  supernatural  race  ? 

And  so  the  Invisibles  exist!  How  is  it, 
then,  that  since  the  beginning  of  the  world 
they  have  never  manifested  themselves  as 
they  have  to  me  ?  I  never  read  of  any  such 
things  as  have  happened  here  in  my  house. 
Oh,  if  I  could  leave  it ! — if  I  could  go  away 
— flee  and  never  return — I  should  be  saved ! 
But  I  cannot. 

August  1 6th. 

I  was  able  to  make  my  escape  to-day  for 
two  hours,  like  a  prisoner  who  finds  the 
door  of  his  dungeon,  by  chance,  open.  I 
suddenly  felt  that  I  was  free,  and  that  he 
was  far  away.  I  ordered  the  carriage  in- 
stantly, and  I  got  as  far  as  Rouen.  Oh, 
what  joy  to  say  to  a  man  who  obeys  you— 
"Goto  Rouen." 


38  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

I  had  myself  driven  to  the  library,  and  I 
took  out  Hermann  Herestauss's  great  treat- 
ise, The  Unrecognized  Inhabitants  of  the  An- 
cient and  Modern  World. 

Then,  as  I  was  getting  back  into  my 
brougham  I  wanted  to  say:  "To  the  sta- 
tion !"  but  cried — I  did  not  say,  I  shouted — 
with  a  voice  so  loud  that  the  people  in  the 
street  turned  round — "  Home  !"  and  I  fell, 
mad  with  despair,  on  the  cushions  of  the 
carriage.  He  had  found  and  captured  me 
again. 

August  17  th. 

Ah  !  what  a  night ! — what  a  night !  And 
yet  it  occurs  to  me  that  I  ought  to  rejoice. 
I  read  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Her- 
mann Herestauss  is  a  doctor  of  philosophy 
and  of  theogony;  he  has  written  a  complete 
history  of  the  manifestations  of  those  beings 
which  wander  mostly  invisible  about  man- 
kind, or  are  imagined  by  him  as  so  doing; 
he  treats  exhaustively  of  their  origin,  of  their 
domain,  of  the  power  which  they  exercise ; 
and  not  one  of  them  resembles  the  one  who 
haunts  me.  One  would  say  that  ever  since 
man  could  think  he  has  had  dim  forebod- 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  39 

ings  and  fears  of  a  new  being,  stronger  than 
himself,  his  successor  in  the  world;  and 
that,  feeling  him  near  at  hand,  and  being  un- 
able to  foresee  the  real  nature  of  this  new 
master,  he  has  in  terror  created  all  that  fan- 
tastic crowd  of  occult  beings — vague  phan- 
toms born  of  fear. 

But  to  continue.  Having  read  till  one 
o'clock,  I  went  and  seated  myself  at  an  open 
window  to  refresh  brow  and  brain  in  the 
calm  air  of  darkness. 

The  night  was  gentle  and  warm.  How  I 
should  have  loved  this  kind  of  a  night  long 
ago! 

No  moon.  The  stars  at  the  back  of  the 
black  sky  glittered  and  trembled.  Who 
dwell  in  those  worlds  up  there  ?  What 
forms?  what  living  things?  what  animals? 
what  plants?  That  which  thinks  in  those 
distant  universes,  what  knows  it  more  than 
we?  What  power  has  it  more  than  we? 
What  sees  it  that  we  know  not  ?  And  some 
day  or  another  will  not  one  of  those  beings, 
traversing  space,  appear  upon  the  earth  and 
conquer  it,  just  as  the  Normans  of  old  crossed 
the  sea  to  subdue  more  feeble  races  ? 


40  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

We  are  so  weak,  so  defenceless,  so  igno- 
rant, so  little,  we  here  on  this  revolving 
speck  of  mud  and  water. 

Thus  dozing  in  the  fresh  evening  breeze, 
I  drowsed  off. 

But  after  I  had  slept  about  forty  minutes, 
I  opened  my  eyes,  making  no  other  move- 
ment, awoke  by  some  confused  fantastical 
emotion.  At  first  I  saw  nothing ;  then,  on 
a  sudden,  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  page  of 
the  open  book  lying  on  my  table  had  just 
turned  by  itself.  No  breath  of  air  came 
through  the  window.  I  was  surprised,  and 
I  waited.  At  the  end  of  about  four  minutes 
I  saw,  I  saw,  yes,  I  saw  with  my  eyes  another 
page  lift  itself  and  fold  over  down  on  the 
preceding  one  as  though  a  finger  had  turned 
it.  My  arm-chair  was  empty,  seemed  emp- 
ty ;  but  I  understood  that  he  was  there,  he, 
seated  in  my  place,  and  that  he  was  reading. 
With  one  furious  leap,  with  the  bound  of  a 
beast  who  has  rebelled  at  last,  and  fallen  on 
his  master  to  tear  him  open,  I  crossed  the 
room  to  seize,  to  grip  him  in  my  hands,  to 
kill  him  !  .  .  .  But  my  chair,  before  I  had 
reached  it,  was  overturned,  as  though  some 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  41 

one  fled  before  me  ...  my  table  tottered,  my 
lamp  fell  and  was  extinguished,  and  my  win- 
dow shut  itself  as  though  a  detected  thief 
had  leaped  out  into  the  night  by  catching 
both  the  sashes  in  his  hands. 

So,  he  fled  !  He  was  afraid,  he  was  afraid 
of  me ! 

Then  .  .  .  then  .  .  .  to-morrow  ...  or  the 
day  after ...  or  some  day ...  I  shall  be  able 
to  get  him  down  under  my  hands,  and  to 
crush  him  against  the  earth  !  Do  not  dogs 
sometimes  bite  and  throttle  their  masters  ? 

August  i8th. 

I  have  reflected  all  day.  Oh  yes,  I  shall 
obey  him,  follow  his  suggestions,  accomplish 
all  his  desires,  appear  humble,  submissive, 
cowardly!  He  is  the  strongest.  But  an 
hour  will  come.  .  .  . 

August  iqth. 

I  know  ...  I  know  ...  I  know  all !  I 
have  read  as  follows  in  the  Revue  du  Monde 
Scientifique:  "  Information  of  a  curious  nat- 
ure comes  to  us  from  Rio  de  Janeiro.  An 
epidemic  of  madness,  comparable  to  those 
contagious  crazes  which  attacked  the  Euro- 


42  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

pean  peoples  during  the  Middle  Ages,  is,  it 
seems,  at  present,  raging  in  the  province  of 
San  Paulo.  The  inhabitants  are  leaving  their 
houses  in  dismay,  deserting  their  villages, 
and  abandoning  their  crops,  maintaining 
that  they  are  being  pursued,  taken  posses- 
sion of,  governed  like  a  human  herd  of  cat- 
tle, by  certain  invisible  but  tangible  beings, 
resembling  vampires,  who  suck  upon  their 
life-blood  during  their  sleep,  and  who,  be- 
sides that,  take  water  and  milk,  but  no  oth- 
er nourishment. 

"  Professor  Don  Pedro  Henriquez,  accom- 
panied by  several  other  scientists  of  the 
medical  profession,  is  on  his  way  to  the  prov- 
ince of  San  Paulo,  to  study  on  the  spot  the 
causes  and  the  manifestations  of  this  curious 
mania ;  he  will  then  propose  to  the  Emperor 
whatever  measures  he  decides  best  for  re- 
calling these  unhappy  lunatics  to  their  rea- 
son." 

Ah!  Ah!  I  remember,  I  remember  the 
beautiful  Brazilian  three-master  which  pass- 
ed up  the  Seine  under  my  windows  on  the 
8th  of  last  May !  I  thought  it  so  beau- 
tiful, so  white,  so  gay!  The  Being  was 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  43 

aboard  it,  coming  from  that  distant  country 
where  his  race  was  born  !  And  he  saw  me ! 
He  saw  that  my  dwelling  was  white,  like- 
wise ;  and  he  leaped  from  the  ship  to  the 
river-banks.  Oh,  my  God  ! 

And  now,  I  know,  I  divine.  The  king- 
dom of  man  is  ended. 

He  has  come.  He  whom  primitive  peo- 
ples dreaded  with  a  naive  terror,  He  who 
was  exorcised  by  anxious  priests,  He  whom 
sorcerers  invoked  in  vain  on  sombre  nights, 
He  to  whom  the  forebodings  of  man,  the  tran- 
sitory master  of  the  earth,  have  given  the 
monstrous  or  gracious  forms  of  gnomes  and 
ghosts,  of  genii,  of  fairies,  and  of  familiar 
spirits.  After  the  vulgar  conceptions  of 
primitive  fear  came  the  clearer  presenta- 
tions of  more  highly  developed  minds.  Mes- 
mer  first  divined  Him;  and  the  doctors,  as 
long  as  ten  years  ago,  discovered  the  exact 
nature  of  His  power  before  He  himself  had 
ever  used  it.  They  have  played  with  this 
weapon  of  the  new  Lord,  this  domination  of 
a  mysterious  will  over  a  human  soul  made 
captive.  They  have  called  it  magnetism, 
hypnotism,  suggestion  . . .  what  not  ?  I  have 


44  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

seen  them,  like  careless  children,  amusing 
themselves  with  that  dreadful  power  !  Woe 
to  us  !  Woe  to  Man  !  He  is  come,  the  .  .  . 
the  .  .  .  how  calls  he  himself  .  .  .  the  ...  it 
seems  to  me  that  he  is  crying  out  his  name, 
and  that  I  cannot  hear  it  ...  the  .  .  .  yes . . . 
he  is  crying  it  ...  I  am  listening  ...  I  can- 
not ...  I  repeat  .  .  .  the  .  .  .  Horla  ...  I 
heard  . . .  the  Horla ...  it  is  he  ...  the  Horla 
...  he  has  come  !  .  .  . 

Ah !  the  vulture  has  devoured  the  dove, 
and  the  wolf  has  devoured  the  sheep,  the 
lion  has  devoured  the  buffalo  with  the 
pointed  horns ;  and  the  man  has  slain  the 
lion  by  arrows  and  by  his  knife  and  by  pow- 
der. But  the  Horla  will  make  of  man  what 
man  has  made  of  the  horse,  and  of  the  ox : 
his  thing,  his  servant,  his  food,  by  the  sole 
power  of  his  will.  Woe  unto  us  ! 

Nevertheless,  the  animal  sometimes  revolts 
and  kills  his  master  .  .  .  and  I,  too,  I  wish 
...  I  shall  be  able  .  .  .  but  I  must  first  know 
what  he  is  like,  I  must  touch  him,  see  him ! 
Scientists  say  that  the  eyes  of  animals  are 
different  from  ours,  and  do  not  distinguish 
things  as  ours  do.  ...  Just  so  my  eyes  can- 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  45 

not  distinguish  this  new-comer  who  oppress- 
es me. 

Why  ?  Oh  !  now  I  remember  the  word 
of  the  monk  of  Mont  St.  Michel :  "  Do  we 
see  the  hundred  -  thousandth  part  of  what 
exists  ?  For  instance,  take  the  wind,  which 
is  the  greatest  force  in  nature,  which  knocks 
down  men,  lays  low  buildings,  tears  up  trees 
by  the  roots,  heaps  the  sea  into  mountains 
of  water,  destroys  coasts,  and  hurls  great 
ships  upon  the  breakers, — the  Wind  which 
kills,  which  whistles,  which  moans,  which 
roars, — have  you  ever  seen  it  ?  Can  you 
see  it  ?  It  exists,  nevertheless." 

And  I  continued  to  reflect :  "  My  eye  is 
so  feeble,  so  imperfect,  that  it  does  not  even 
distinguish  solid  bodies,  if  they  are  transpar- 
ent— such  as  glass  ! . . .  And  if  a  mirror  with- 
out a  quicksilver  back  bars  the  way,  my  eye 
allows  me  to  throw  myself  up  against  it  like 
a  bird  which,  straying  into  a  room,  dashes  its 
head  to  pieces  against  the  window-panes.  A 
thousand  things  beside  deceive  and  confuse 
it.  Then  what  wonder  if  it  cannot  see  this 
new  transparent  body  ?" 

A  new  being !     Why  not  ?     Inevitably  he 


46  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

must  have  arisen !  Why  should  we  be  the 
last?  We  cannot  see  him  as  we  do  other 
beings  created  before  ourselves  ?  That  is 
simply  because  his  nature  is  more  perfect, 
because  his  body  is  more  subtilely  and  high- 
ly developed  than  ours,  than  ours  so  feeble, 
than  ours  conceived  so  roughly,  encumbered 
with  organs  like  over-complex  springs,  always 
fatigued,  and  always  straining.  For  our 
body  lives  like  a  plant  and  like  a  beast, 
gaining  a  painful  sustenance  from  air,  from 
grasses,  and  from  flesh.  A  living  machine, 
the  prey  to  sickness,  to  deformity,  and  to 
decay,  it  is  of  dust;  a  work  at  once  coarse 
and  delicate,  irregular,  pitifully  simple,  fan- 
tastic, and  ill -made  ingeniously;  the  first 
rough  sketch  of  a  being  which  might  some- 
time be  developed  into  something  intelligent 
and  perfect. 

There  are,  after  all,  from  the  oyster  up  to 
the  man,  so  few  of  us  here  on  the  earth. 
Why  not  one  more,  once  the  period  which 
separates  the  appearances  of  different  suc- 
cessive species  has  been  accomplished  ? 

Why  not  one  more  ?  Why  not  other  trees 
with  immense  flowers  dazzling  and  suffusing 


GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT.  47 

entire  regions  with  their  perfume?  Why 
not  other  elements  besides  Fire,  Air,  Earth, 
and  Water  ?  They  are  four,  only  four,  these 
nursing  fathers  of  being !  What  a  pity ! 
Why  are  they  not  forty,  four  hundred,  four 
thousand  ?  How  poor,  how  mean,  how 
wretched  is  everything!  Granted,  but  not 
freely;  conceived,  but  without  genius;  exe- 
cuted, but  with  no  lightness  of  touch  !  The 
elephant,  forsooth,  the  hippopotamus,  how 
graceful !  The  camel,  how  elegant ! 

But  what  say  you  of  the  butterfly,  that 
flying  flower  ?  I  dream  of  one  large  as  a 
hundred  worlds,  with  wings  whose  shape, 
whose  beauty,  whose  color,  and  whose  man- 
ner of  motion  I  cannot  even  describe.  But 
I  see  it  ...  it  is  going  from  star  to  star 
refreshing  and  perfuming  each  with  the 
light  and  harmonious  breathing  of  its 
course!  .  .  .  And  whole  peoples,  high  up 
there,  watch,  in  ecstasy  and  ravishment,  its 
passing !  .  .  . 


What  is  the  matter  with  me?     It  is  he, 
he,  the  Horla,  who  haunts  me  and  makes 


48  MODERN   GHOSTS, 

me  dream  such  follies !     He  is  within  me. 
He  has  become  my  soul ;  I  shall  kill  him ! 

August  2oth. 

I  shall  kill  him.  I  have  seen  him.  I  sat 
down  last  night  at  my  table,  and  I  pretended 
to  be  absorbed  in  writing.  I  knew  very  well 
that  he  would  come  and  prowl  round  me, 
very  near,  so'  near  that  perhaps  I  should  be 
able  to  touch  him,  to  seize  him.  And  then  ! 
.  .  .  then  I  should  have  the  strength  of  des- 
peration; I  should  have  hands  and  knees, 
breast,  and  brow,  and  teeth,  to  strangle,  to 
crush,  to  bite,  to  tear. 

And,  straining  every  sense,  I  watched  for 
him. 

I  had  lit  my  two  lamps  and  the  eight  can- 
dles on  my  mantel,  exactly  as  though  the 
light  would  help  me  to  discover  him  ! 

Before  me  was  my  bed,  an  old  oak  bed- 
stead with  columns.  On  my  right  the  chim- 
ney-piece. On  my  left  the  door,  which  I 
had  carefully  shut,  after  leaving  it  open  for 
a  while  in  order  to  attract  him.  Behind  me, 
a  tall  wardrobe,  with  a  looking-glass  which 
I  used  every  day  for  shaving  and  for  dress- 


GUV   DE   MAUPASSANT.  49 

ing,  and  in  which,  every  time  I  passed  it,  I 
had  a  habit  of  looking  myself  over  from 
head  to  foot. 

So  I  pretended  to  write  in  order  to  deceive 
him;  for  he,  too,  was  watching.  And  sud- 
denly I  felt,  I  was  certain,  that  he  was  read- 
ing over  my  shoulder,  that  he  was  there  al- 
most brushing  my  ear. 

I  jumped  up  with  out-stretched  hands,  and 
turned  round  so  quickly  that  I  almost  fell. 
Well  ?  In  my  chamber  it  was  as  light  as 
day,  but  I  did  not  see  myself  in  the  glass ! 
...  It  was  empty,  clear,  deep,  full  of  light ! 
My  image  was  not  in  it  ...  and  I  stood 
there  right  in  front  of  it,  I !  The  great  glass 
was  clear  from  top  to  bottom.  And  with 
wild  eyes  I  stared  at  this  thing;  and  I  did 
not  dare  to  advance,  I  did  not  dare  to  move, 
feeling  indeed  that  he  was  there,  but  that  he 
would  escape  me,  he,  whose  invisible  body 
had  absorbed  the  reflection  of  mine. 

What  fear  I  suffered  !  Then,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, I  began  to  perceive  myself  in  a  mist  at 
the  back  of  the  mirror,  in  a  mist  as  though 
through  a  sheet  of  water;  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  this  water  glided  from  left  to  right, 
4 


50  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

slowly,  making  my  figure  clearer,  from  sec- 
ond to  second.  It  was  like  the  ending  of  an 
eclipse.  That  which  concealed  me  did  not 
appear  to  possess  sharp  outlines,  but  merely 
a  kind  of  opaque  transparence,  rarefying  it- 
self little  by  little. 

At  last  I  could  distinguish  my  whole  fig- 
ure, just  as  I  do  each  day  when  I  look. 

I  had  seen  him  !  The  terror  of  it  remains 
still  on  me,  causing  me  still  to  shiver. 

August  2ist. 

Kill  him  ?  How  ?  Since  I  cannot  reach 
him  ?  Poison  ?  But  he  would  see  me  mix- 
ing it  in  the  water ;  and,  besides,  would  our 
poisons  have  any  effect  on  his  supersensual 
body?  No  ...  no  ...  of  course  not.  .  .  . 
What  then  ? .  .  .  what  then  ? .  .  . 

August  22d. 

I  have  had  up  a  locksmith  from  Rouen, 
and  I  have  ordered  for  my  room  some  iron 
shutters  like  those  which  certain  private 
houses  in  Paris  have  on  the  ground-floor 
as  a  protection  against  robbers.  He  is 
also  to  make  me  an  iron  door.  I  am  ap- 


GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT.  51 

pearing  like  a  great  coward,  but  at  that  I 
laugh !  .  .  . 


Sept.  loth. 

Rouen.  Hotel  Continental.  It  is  accom- 
plished ...  it  is  accomplished  .  .  .  but  is 
he  dead  ?  My  soul  is  overwhelmed  by  what 
I  have  seen. 

Yesterday  the  locksmith,  having  fitted  my 
shutters  and  my  iron  door,  I  left  everything 
open  until  midnight,  although  it  began  to  be 
very  cold. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  felt  that  he  was  there, 
and  a  joy,  a  mad  joy  seized  me.  I  rose 
gently,  and  I  walked  up  and  down  for  a  long 
time  in  order  to  put  him  off  his  guard.  Then 
I  carelessly  took  off  my  boots  and  put  on 
my  slippers.  Then  I  closed  my  iron  shut- 
ters, and,  returning  tranquilly  to  the  door,  I 
closed  that  also  and  double-locked  it.  Again 
returning  to  the  window,  I  secured  the  shut- 
ter with  a  padlock,  and  put  the  key  in  my 
pocket. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  understood  that  he  was 
stirring  anxiously  round  me;  that,  in  his 


52  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

turn  now,  he  was  afraid ;  that  he  was  com- 
manding me  to  open.  I  came  near  yield- 
ing ;  I  did  not  yield,  but,  setting  my  back 
against  the  door,  I  opened  it  on  a  crack  just 
wide  enough  for  me  to  pass  through  back- 
ward; and  as  I  am  very  tall,  my  head 
touched  the  lintel.  I  was  sure  that  he  could 
not  have  escaped,  and  I  shut  him  in  all 
alone — all  alone  !  What  happiness  !  I  had 
him  fast !  Then  I  went  down  -  stairs,  run- 
ning. In  the  drawing-room  under  my  bed- 
chamber I  took  the  two  lamps,  and  I  poured 
oil  over  the  carpet,  over  the  furniture,  over 
everything ;  then  I  set  fire  to  it  and  I  escaped 
from  the  house  after  having  double-locked 
on  the  outside  the  great  hall  door. 

And  I  hid  myself  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden  in  a  thicket  of  laurels.  How  long 
it  was !  How  long  it  was  !  All  remained 
black,  silent,  immobile ;  not  a  breath  of 
air,  not  a  star  in  the  great  mountains  of 
clouds  which  I  could  not  see,  but  which 
rested  on  my  soul  so  heavily,  so  heavily. 

I  watched  my  house  and  I  waited.  How 
long  it  was  !  I  had  begun  to  think  that  the 
fire  had  gone  out  of  itself,  or  that  he — He 


GUY  DE   MAUPASSANT.  53 

had  extinguished  it.  Then  one  of  the  win- 
dows on  the  ground-floor  cracked  under  the 
pressure  of  the  inner  conflagration,  and  a 
tongue  of  flame — a  great  tongue  of  red  and 
yellow  flame — long  and  soft  and  caressing, 
climbed  up  along  the  white  wall  and  kissed 
the  very  roof.  A  glow  ran  over  the  trees, 
the  branches,  the  leaves,  and  a  shiver — a 
shiver  of  fear  also !  The  birds  awoke ;  a 
dog  began  to  howl ;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  day  itself  was  getting  up !  Soon  two 
other  windows  burst  open,  and  I  saw  that 
the  whole  ground -floor  of  my  house  was 
nothing  but  a  dreadful  brazier.  But  a  cry 
— an  awful  cry — sharp,  heart-rending — a 
woman's  shriek — came  out  into  the  night, 
and  two  windows  in  the  garret  opened !  I 
had  forgotten  my  servants !  I  saw  their 
wild  faces,  their  waving  arms !  .  .  . 

Then,  mad  with  horror,  I  set  off  running 
to  the  village,  shouting  "  Help  !  —  help  ! 
Fire  ! — fire  !"  I  met  people  already  hasten- 
ing to  the  scene,  and  I  returned  with  them 
— to  look  ! 

The  house  was  now  simply  a  horrible  and 
magnificent  stake — a  monstrous  stake — illu- 


54  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

initiating  all  the  country — a  stake  at  which 
men  were  burning,  and  at  which  he  burned 
also — He,  He,  my  prisoner,  the  new  Being, 
the  new  master,  the  Horla ! 

Suddenly  the  entire  roof  fell  in  between 
the  walls,  and  a  volcano  of  flame  shot  up- 
ward to  the  sky.  Through  the  windows 
open  upon  the  furnace  I  saw  the  fiery  vat, 
and  I  thought:  he  is  there  in  that  burning 
oven — dead.  .  .  . 

Dead  ?  Perhaps.  .  .  .  But  his  body  ?  His 
body,  which  the  light  of  day  could  pass 
through,  is  it  not  perhaps  indestructible  by 
such  means  as  destroy  our  bodies  ? 

What  if  he  be  not  dead  ?  .  .  .  Time  alone, 
perhaps,  has  power  over  the  Being  Invis- 
ible, the  Being  Terrible.  Why  a  transparent 
body  ?  why  an  imperceptible  body  ?  why  the 
body  of  a  Spirit,  if  he  too  must  fear  mis- 
fortunes, wounds,  infirmities,  premature  de- 
struction ? 

Premature  destruction?  All  human  ter- 
ror springs  from  the  idea  of  that.  After 
Man,  the  Horla.  After  him  who  can  die 
any  day,  any  hour,  any  moment,  by  any  acci 
dent,  has  come  He  who  shall  die  only  on  his 


GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT.  55 

appointed  day,  at  his  appointed  hour,  at  his 
appointed  minute,  having  touched  the  ap- 
pointed limit  of  existence ! 

No  ...  no  ...  there  is  no  doubt,  there 
is  no  doubt.  ...  I  have  not  killed  him.  .  .  . 
Then  .  .  .  then  ...  I  see  ...  it  is  plain  .  .  . 
yes,  it  is  plain  that  I  must .  .  .  kill .  .  .  my- 
self!. 


SIESTA. 

BY 

ALEXANDER   L.  K1ELLAND. 


SIESTA. 


IN  one  of  those  elegant  bachelors'  lodg- 
ings in  Rue  Castiglione  a  merry  company 
lingered  over  the  dessert. 

Sefior  Jose  Francisco  de  Silvis  was  a  Por- 
tuguese, short  in  stature,  black  as  a  coal.  He 
was  one  of  those  Brazilians  who  are  wont 
to  cross  the  ocean  with  incredible  fortunes, 
to  lead  incredible  lives  in  Paris,  and  to  dis- 
tinguish themselves,  above  all  things,  by 
making  the  most  incredible  acquaintances. 

At  this  little  dinner-party  there  was  hardly 
one  who  was  acquainted  with  his  neighbor 
on  the  right,  or  on  the  left;  excepting,  of 
course,  those  coming  together.  The  host 
himself  had  met  them  either  at  a  ball,  or  at 
table-d'hote,  or  in  the  street. 


60  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

Senor  de  Silvis  laughed  loudly,  talked 
loudly,  wherever  he  went,  as  rich  foreigners 
always  do.  Not  being  able  to  gain  entree 
into  the  Jockey  Club,  he  collected  around 
himself  whatsoever  he  happened  upon.  He 
immediately  asked  for  the  address.  The 
next  day  he  sent  an  invitation  for  a  small 
dinner-party. 

He  spoke  all  languages  —  indeed,  even 
German.  One  could  see  that  he  was  not  a 
little  proud  when  he  called  across  the  ta- 
ble, "Mein  lieber  Herr  Doktor  ! — wie  gehfs 
Ihnen  ?" 

And  there  was,  too,  a  real  bodily  German 
doctor  in  the  party,  with  an  exuberant  beard, 
as  red  as  fire,  and  that  smile  of  Sedan,  worn 
by  all  Germans  in  Paris. 

The  temperature  of  the  entertainment  rose 
with  the  champagne.  Fluent  French  and 
murdered  French  alternated  with  Spanish 
and  Portuguese.  The  ladies  leaned  back 
in  their  chairs  and  laughed.  The  party  was 
soon  sufficiently  acquainted  to  cast  aside  all 
embarrassment.  Jesting  and  witty  words 
flew  over  the  table  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
The  "lieber  Doktor"  alone  discussed  seri- 


ALEXANDER   L.   KIELLAND.  6l 

ously  with  his  neighbor — a  French  journal- 
ist, with  a  red  ribbon  in  his  button-hole. 

And  there  was  still  another  present  who 
did  not  allow  himself  to  be  carried  away 
with  the  general  gayety.  He  sat  at  the 
right  of  Mademoiselle  Adele.  On  her  left 
sat  her  new  admirer,  the  corpulent  Anatole, 
who  had  been  eating  excessively  of  the  truf- 
fles. 

During  the  meal  Mademoiselle  Adele  had 
attempted,  by  many  harmless  little  devices, 
to  enliven  her  neighbor  on  the  right.  But 
he  remained  quiet,  answered  courteously, 
but  shortly  and  in  a  low  voice. 

She  thought  at  first  that  he  was  a  Pole ; 
one  of  those  most  wearisome  of  creatures, 
who  travel  about  and  play  the  despised. 
But  she  soon  discovered  that  she  had  erred. 
That  annoyed  Mademoiselle  Adele. 

It  was  one  of  her  many  accomplishments 
to  be  able  to  distinguish,  at  the  first  glance, 
the  many  foreigners  whom  she  encountered. 
And  she  was  wont  to  declare  that  she  could 
guess  the  nationality  of  a  man  as  soon  as 
he  had  exchanged  ten  words  with  her. 

But  this  taciturn  stranger  was  the  source 


62  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

of  much  perplexity  to  her.  If  he  had  only 
been  blond !  Then  she  would  at  once  have 
made  him  an  Englishman,  for  he  spoke  like 
one.  But  he  had  black  hair,  a  heavy  dark 
mustache,  and  a*fme  petit  figure.  His  fin- 
gers were  remarkably  long,  and  he  had  a 
peculiar  way  of  crumbling  the  bread  and 
playing  with  the  dessert-fork. 

"  He  is  a  musician,"  whispered  Mademoi- 
selle Adele  to  her  corpulent  friend. 

"Ah,"  replied  Monsieur  Anatole,  "  I  fear 
that  I  have  eaten  too  many  truffles." 

Mademoiselle  Adele  again  whispered  some 
good  advice  into  his  ear,  whereupon  he  laugh- 
ed and  appeared  smitten  with  love. 

Meanwhile,  however,  she  could  not  neglect 
the  interesting  stranger.  After  she  had  en- 
ticed him  to  drink  several  glasses  of  cham- 
pagne, he  became  livelier  and  more  talkative. 

"  Oh,"  she  suddenly  cried  out,  "  I  perceive 
by  your  speech  that  you  are  certainly  an  Eng- 
lishman !" 

The  stranger  blushed  and  hastily  replied, 
"  No,  madam !" 

Mademoiselle  Adele  laughed. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  know,  Amer- 


ALEXANDER    L.   KIELLAND.  63 

leans  are  always  vexed  when  one  takes  them 
for  English." 

"I  am  not  an  American  either,"  returned 
the  stranger. 

This  was  too  much  for  Mademoiselle  Adele. 
She  bent  over  her  plate  and  seemed  very 
much  embarrassed.  Then,  indeed,  she  ob- 
served that  Mademoiselle  Louison,  sitting 
opposite  to  her,  was  delighted  with  her  blun- 
der. 

The  strange  gentleman  understood  this, 
and  added,  half  aloud :  "  I  am  an  Irishman, 
madam." 

"Ah,"  uttered  Mademoiselle  Adele,  with  a 
grateful  smile,  for  she  was  easily  reconciled. 

"Anatole  —  Irishman!  What  is  that?" 
she  whispered. 

"  They  are  the  poor  in  England,"  he  whis- 
pered in  reply. 

"  So  !— hem  !"  Mademoiselle  Adele  raised 
her  eyebrows  and  cast  a  sly  glance  at  her 
neighbor  on  the  right.  With  one  stroke  he 
had  completely  swept  away -her  interest  in 
him. 

De  Silvis's  dinner  was  excellent.  They 
had  been  long  sitting  at  the  table.  When 


64  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

Monsieur  Anatole  remembered  the  oysters, 
which  had  introduced  the  menu,  they  were 
to  him  like  a  pleasant  dream.  The  truffles, 
on  the  contrary,  continued  to  be  to  him  a 
lasting  reality. 

The  dinner  proper  was  ended.  Now  and 
then  some  one  lifted  his  glass  again,  or  cull- 
ed from  the  dish  one  of  the  choice  fruits  or 
little  bon-bons. 

Tender  hearted,  blond  Mademoiselle 
Louison  was  lost  in  deep  reverie  over  a  grape 
which  she  had  dropped  into  her  champagne 
glass. 

"Look,"  cried  Mademoiselle  Louison, turn- 
ing her  great,  liquid  eyes  towards  the  jour- 
nalist; "see  how  the  white  angels  bear  a 
sinner  towards  heaven !" 

"Ah,  charming !  mademoiselle.  What  a 
sublime  idea !"  cried  the  enraptured  jour- 
nalist in  return. 

Mademoiselle  Louison's  sublime  idea  made 
the  circuit  of  the  table,  and  was  generally 
applauded.  The  frivolous  Adele  alone  whis- 
pered to  her  corpulent  admirer :  "  Really, 
'twould  take  a  whole  host  of  angels  to  carry 
you  to  heaven,  Anatole  I" 


ALEXANDER    L.    KIELLAND.  65 

The  journalist,  in  the  interim,  knew  how 
to  grasp  the  opportunity  and  arrest  the  gen- 
eral attention  of  the  company.  Further- 
more, he  was  happy  at  the  prospect  of  escap- 
ing a  wearisome  political  discussion  with  the 
German.  And  since  he  wore  the  red  ribbon 
in  his  button-hole,  and,  in  addition,  had  the 
matchless,  important  tone  of  a  journalist, 
the  entire  party  gave  him  audience. 

He  explained  how  small  forces,  when  com- 
bined in  operation,  can  bear  such  great  bur- 
dens. And  then  he  passed  to  the  topic  of 
the  day :  The  magnificent  collections  of  the 
press  for  sufferers  from  the  floods  in  Spain 
and  for  the  destitute  in  Paris. 

He  had  much  to  relate.  Every  moment 
he  spoke  of  the  press  as  "we,"  while  in  the 
heat  of  his  eloquence  he  talked  of  "these 
millions  which  we  have  raised  with  such 
enormous  sacrifices." 

But  each  of  the  others  also  had  his  story 
to  tell.  Innumerable  traits,  ^mall  or  noble, 
were  revealed  on  these  days  of  festivities 
and  pleasures.  And  all  of  them  savored 
somewhat  of  self-sacrifice. 

Mademoiselle  Louison's  best  friend,  an 
5 


66  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

unimportant  lady,  whose  place  was  almost 
at  the  foot  of  the  table,  related,  despite  Loui- 
son's  protest,  how  three  poor  sewing-girls 
had  come  to  her  own  lodgings,  and  how 
she  had  made  them  sew  the  whole  night  on 
her  gown  for  the  celebration  at  the  Hippo- 
drome. Moreover,  in  addition  to  their  wages, 
she  had  generously  given  these  poor  girls 
coffee  and  cake ! 

Mademoiselle  Louison  became  suddenly 
an  important  personage  at  the  table,  and  the 
journalist  began  to  show  her  the  most  mark- 
ed attentions. 

These  many  noble  incidents  of  benevo- 
lence and  Louison's  liquid  eyes  inspired  the 
entire  company  with  a  feeling  of  repose,  sat- 
isfaction, and  sympathy  for  mankind,  which 
was  most  eminently  fitting  to  the  weariness 
following  the  fatigue  of  the  meal. 

Indeed,  this  feeling  of  comfort  mounted 
even  a  few  degrees  higher,  when  they  came 
to  rest  themselves  in  the  soft  arm-chairs  of 
the  little  cool  salon. 

There  was  no  other  light  here  than  the 
glow  from  the  open  fireplace.  Its  ruddy 
brightness  stole  softly  across  the  English 


ALEXANDER    L.   KIELLAND.  67 

carpet  and  ascended  to  the  golden  cornices 
of  the  hangings;  it  played  upon  the  gilded 
frames  of  the  paintings,  touched  the  piano 
which  stood  near  the  chimney;  here  and 
there  it  fell  also  upon  a  face,  wonderfully 
illumining  and  reclaiming  it  from  the  dark- 
ness. Otherwise  nothing  was  visible  except 
the  red,  glowing  tips  of  cigars  and  cigarettes. 

The  entertainment  began  to  flag;  .only  a 
whisper  now  and  then,  or  the  clink  of  a  cof- 
fee-cup disturbed  the  silence. 

Every  one  seemed  inclined  to  surrender 
himself  undistracted  to  the  still  enjoyment 
of  his  digestive  powers  and  his  philanthropic 
temperament.  Even  Monsieur  Anatole  for- 
got his  truffles,  while  he  stretched  himself 
out  in  the  low  easy-chair  near  the  sofa,  on 
which  Mademoiselle  Adele  had  seated  her- 
self. 

"  Is  there  no  one  present  who  can  give  us 
a  little  music?"  inquired  Senor  de  Silvis. 
"You  are  always  wont  to  be  so  obliging, 
Mademoiselle  Adele." 

"  Oh  dear,  no — no  !"  cried  Mademoiselle. 
"I've  been  eating  too  heartily!"  at  the  same 
time,  leaning  back  upon  the  sofa,  she  drew 


68  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

up  her  little  feet,  and,  with  a  satisfied  air, 
folded  her  hands  across  her  breast. 

But  the  stranger,  the  Irishman,  emerged 
from  his  corner,  and  advanced  to  the  piano. 

"  Oh  !  you're  going  to  play  something  for 
us !  Many  thanks — Monsieur — hem,  Mon- 
sieur— "  Senor  de  Silvis  had  forgotten  the 
name,  a  thing  happening  very  often,  indeed, 
with  his  guests. 

"  You  see,  he  is  a  musician  !"  said  Madem- 
oiselle Adele  to  her  friend.  Anatole  an- 
swered with  a  grunt  of  admiration. 

There  was  something  else.  The  others 
also  perceived  it  at  once,  noticing  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  sat  down  and  struck  a  few 
chords  here  and  there  to  awaken  the  instru- 
ment, as  it  were. 

He  then  began  to  play — sportively,  flight- 
ily,  frivolously — just  as  the  mood  was  upon 
him. 

The  melodies  of  the  day  whirled  away 
into  gay  waltzes  and  tuneful  glees ;  all  those 
insignificant  popular  tunes  hummed  by  all 
Paris  for  the  past  week  he  snatched  up  and 
executed  with  spirit  and  fluency. 

The  ladies  cried  out  with  astonishment, 


ALEXANDER   L.   KIELLAND.  69 

sang  a  few  bars  in  accompaniment,  beat 
time  softly  on  the  floor.  The  entire  com- 
pany followed  him  with  intense  interest. 
He  had  gained  their  sympathy,  and  carried 
them  away  with  him  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. The  "  lieber  Herr  Doktor  "  alone  list- 
ened with  that  Sedan  smile.  Such  things 
were  too  simple  for  him. 

But  soon  there  was  something  for  even 
the  German.  He  nodded  now  and  then 
-somewhat  approvingly. 

A  bit  of  Chopin  burst  forth  and  wonder- 
fully accorded  with  the  general  temperament 
— the  pungent  fragrancy  filling  the  air,  the 
gay  women,  the  men  so  frank,  so  uncon- 
cerned, each  strange  to  the  other,  lost  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  dusky  salon,  each  following 
his  own  most  secret  thoughts,  borne  along  by 
the  mysterious,  half -distinct,  half -confused 
music,  while  the  light  of  the  open  fireplace 
brightened  now,  now  sank  back  again,  caus- 
ing everything  golden  to  glimmer  with  a 
faint,  trembling  glow. 

And  now  there  was  still  more  for  the  doc- 
tor. From  time  to  time  he  turned  towards 
De  Silvis  and  motioned  to  him  whenever  the 


JO     .  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

harmonious  sounds  suggested  "our  Schu- 
mann," "our  Beethoven,"  or,  indeed,  "our 
famous  Richard." 

Meanwhile  the  stranger  continued  play- 
ing, slightly  inclined  to  the  left,  though  with- 
out effort,  in  order  to  put  more  force  into 
the  bass.  It  sounded  as  if  he  had  twenty 
fingers — all  of  steel.  He  knew  how  to  as- 
semble a  multitude  of  tones,  so  that  the 
instrument  itself  produced  one  powerful, 
united,  distinct  sound.  Not  stopping,  not 
marking  the  transitions,  by  ever  newly  re- 
curring surprises,  imitations,  happy  combi- 
nations he  fixed  their  attention  so  firmly 
that  even  the  most  unmusical  person  was 
forced  to  follow  him  with  rapture. 

Wholly  unnoticed,  the  music  changed  its 
character.  The  artist  played  the  deep  tones 
uninterruptedly.  He  then  inclined  himself 
more  and  more  upon  the  left,  and  there  arose 
a  wonderful  commotion  in  the  bass.  The 
anabaptists  of  the  Prophet  approached  with 
heavy  steps;  a  knight  from  the  Damnation 
de  Faust  mounted  from  the  depths  below 
with  that  desperate,  hobbling,  diabolical 
gallop. 


ALEXANDER    L.   KIELLAND.  71 

More  and  more  it  rumbled  and  thundered 
in  the  deeper  tones,  and  Monsieur  Anatole 
began  to  feel  the  truffles  anew.  Mademoi- 
selle Adele  leaned  half  forward  from  the 
sofa ;  the  music  would  not  allow  her  to  rest 
in  peace. 

Here  and  there  the  chimney-fire  was  re- 
flected in  a  pair  of  black  eyes  staringly  fixed 
upon  the  player.  He  had  bewitched  them ; 
they  could  now  no  longer  detach  themselves 
from  him;  he  led  them  ever  deeper  down, 
down,  down,  where  the  sound  was  muffled 
and  gloomily  muttered  with  lamentations 
and  threats. 

"  He  manages  his  left  hand  marvellously," 
said  the  doctor.  But  De  Silvis  did  not  hear 
him;  like  the  others,  he  sat  in  breathless 
suspense. 

A  mysterious,  oppressive  fear  stole  out 
from  the  music  and  brooded  over  the  whole 
assembly. 

The  artist  seemed  to  clinch  his  left  hand 
into  a  fist,  which  could  never  again  relax, 
while  with  his  right  he  cast  hither  and 
thither  descants  of  sounds  leaping  aloft  like 
sparkling  flames.  It  sounded  as  if  some- 


72  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

thing  dismal,  horrible  had  been  committed 
in  the  cellar,  while  those  up-stairs  were 
dancing,  laughing,  and  amusing  themselves 
under  the  resplendent  candelabra. 

There  was  heard  a  sigh,  a  low  cry  from 
one  of  the  ladies  who  felt  unwell,  but  no  one 
took  notice  of  it.  The  performer  was  now 
wholly  occupied  with  the  bass,  on  which  he 
was  playing  with  both  hands.  His  tireless 
fingers  rapidly  mingled  the  sounds  together, 
so  that  cold  chills  ran  up  and  down  the 
backs  of  his  hearers. 

There  was,  however,  a  gradual  ascen- 
sion from  the  threatening,  tumultuous  lower 
sounds  to  the  higher  notes.  The  tones  ran 
into  each  other,  over  each  other,  past  each 
other,  upward,  ever  upward,  but  never  seem- 
ing to  advance.  There  arose  a  wild  tumult, 
a  struggle  to  reach  the  top.  They  swarmed 
like  little  black  demons,  fighting,  wrangling, 
full  of  raging  wrath,  feverish  hurry,  climbing, 
clinging,  clinching  with  hands  and  teeth, 
each  kicking,  crushing  the  other  with  its 
feet,  cursing,  shrieking,  praying — and,  mean- 
while, his  hands  glided  along  the  keys  so 
slowly,  oh,  so  painfully  slowly! 


ALEXANDER    L.   KIELLAND.  73 

"Anatole,"  whispered  Mademoiselle  Adele, 
as  pale  as  a  ghost,  "  he  is  playing  the  '  Pov- 
erty !' " 

"  Oh,  dear !— those  truffles  !"  moaned  An- 
atole, beginning  to  writhe  with  pain. 

~The  salon  suddenly  became  as  bright  as 
day.  Two  servants  entered  from  behind 
the  portiere  with  lamps  and  candelabra. 
At  the  same  moment  the  strange  musician 
stopped  playing,  with  all  the  might  of  his 
steeled  fingers  striking  a  discord  so  impos- 
sible, so  startling  that  the  entire  party  in- 
stantly sprang  to  their  feet. 

"  Away  with  the  lamps  !"  cried  De  Silvis. 

"  No,  no  !"  shrieked  Mademoiselle  Adele; 
"come  in  with  the  light.  I'm  afraid  in  the 
dark.  Oh,  the  horrible  creature  !" 

"Who  was  he? — yes, — who  was  he?" 
And  they  involuntarily  thronged  round  their 
host.  Nor  did  they  notice  that  the  stranger 
had  slipped  out  behind  the  servants. 

De  Silvis  tried  to  laugh  it  off  by  saying: 
"  I  think  it  was  the  devil.  Come,  let  us  go 
to  the  opera !" 

"To  the  opera?  Not  for  the  world," 
cried  Louison.  "  I  won't  listen  to  any  music 


74  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

for  a  fortnight.  Ugh !  think  of  that  crowd 
on  the  opera  stair-way !" 

"  Oh,  my  truffles !"  howled  Anatole. 

The  company  broke  up.  They  all  sud- 
denly realized  that  they  were  strangers  in  a 
strange  place.  Each  one  desired  to  steal 
away  home  and  be  alone  by  himself. 

On  accompanying  Mademoiselle  Louison 
to  her  carriage  the  journalist  said :  "  There, 
you  see,  that's  the  result  of  allowing  one's 
self  to  be  persuaded  to  accept  the  invita- 
tions of  one  of  those  half-barbarians.  One 
never  knows  what  sort  of  a  crowd  one  will 
meet." 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !  He  has  quite  put  me  out 
of  humor,"  replied  Louison,  plaintively,  all 
the  time  lifting  her  liquid  eyes  appealingly 
to  him.  "  But  won't  you  accompany  me  to 
Trinity  ?  I  know  that  a  quiet  mass  will  be 
read  there  at  midnight." 

The  journalist  bowed  acquiescence,  and 
took  his  place  beside  her  in  the  carriage. 

While  Mademoiselle  Adele  and  Monsieur 
Anatole,  on  the  other  hand,  were  passing  the 
English  apothecary  in  Rue  de  la  Paix,  the  lat- 
ter bade  the  coachman  stop,  and  said,  "No," 


ALEXANDER   L.   KIELLAND.  75 

beseechingly  to  her,  "  I  think  I  must  be  put 
down  here  and  have  them  give  me  some- 
thing for  my  truffles.  You  won't  be  angry 
with  me  ?  But,  you  see — the  music — " 

"  Please  do  not  let  it  trouble  you  in  the 
least,  my  friend.  To  be  frank,  I  think  that 
neither  of  us  is  in  a  specially  happy  mood 
to-night.  Well,  good-night !  Auf  Wiedersehen 
to-morrow !" 

She  leaned  back  in  the  cushions  of  the 
carnage.  She  felt  relieved.  She  was  alone. 
And  the  frivolous  creature  wept,  as  if  she  had 
been  whipped !  She  was  then  driven  home. 

Of  course  Anatole  was  suffering  extreme- 
ly from  the  truffles,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  felt  better  the  moment  the  carriage  rolled 
away. 

Since  the  time  that  they  had  become  ac- 
quainted they  were  never  so  satisfied  with 
one  another  as  at  this  very  moment  of 
parting. 

But  the  one  who  had  best  recovered 
from  the  affair  was  the  "lieber  Herr 
Doktor,"  for,  being  a  German,  he  had  be- 
come inured  as  far  as  the  music  was  con- 
cerned. 


76  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

Notwithstanding  this,  however,  he  re- 
solved to  stroll  off  to  the  brasserie  Miiller 
in  Rue  Richelieu,  to  drink  over  it  a  good 
square  pint  of  German  beer,  with  a  bit  of 
ham,  perhaps. 


THE  TALL  WOMAN. 

BY 

PEDRO  ANTONIO  DE  ALARCON. 


THE   TALL  WOMAN. 


I. 

"  How  little  we  really  know,  my  friends ; 
how  little  we  really  know." 

The  speaker  was  Gabriel,  a  distinguished 
civil  engineer  of  the  mountain  corps.  He 
was  seated  under  a  pine-tree,  near  a  spring, 
on  the  crest  of  the  Guadarrama.  It  was 
only  about  a  league  and  a  half  distant  from 
the  palace  of  the  Escurial,  on  the  boundary 
line  of  the  provinces  of  Madrid  and  Segovia. 
I  know  the  place,  spring,  pine-tree  and  all, 
but  I  have  forgotten  its  name. 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  went  on  Gabriel,  "  as 
that  is  the  correct  thing  to  do,  and  as  our 
programme  calls  for  a  rest  here  —  here  in 
this  pleasant  and  classic  spot,  famous  for 


80  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

the  digestive  properties  of  that  spring,  and 
for  the  many  lambs  here  devoured  by  our 
noted  teachers,  Don  Miguel  Bosch,  Don 
Maximo  Laguna,  Don  Augustin  Pascual, 
and  other  illustrious  naturalists.  Sit  down, 
and  I  will  tell  you  a  strange  and  wonderful 
story  in  proof  of  my  thesis,  which  is,  though 
you  call  me  an  obscurantist  for  it,  that  su- 
pernatural events  still  occur  on  this  terra- 
queous globe.  I  mean  events  which  you 
cannot  get  into  terms  of  reason,  or  science, 
or  philosophy — as  those  'words,  words, 
words,'  in  Hamlet's  phrase,  are  understood 
(or  are  not  understood)  to-day." 

Gabriel  was  addressing  his  animated  re- 
marks to  five  persons  of  different  ages. 
None  of  them  was  young,  though  only  one 
was  well  along  in  years.  Three  of  them 
were,  like  Gabriel,  engineers ;  the  fourth  was 
a  painter,  and  the  fifth  was  a  litterateur  in  a 
small  way.  In  company  with  the  speaker, 
who  was  the  youngest,  we  had  all  ridden  up 
on  hired  mules  from  the  Real  Sitio  de  San 
Lorenzo  to  spend  the  day  botanizing  among 
the  beautiful  pine  groves  of  Pequerinos, 
chasing  butterflies  with  gauze  nets,  catching 


PEDRO    ANTONIO    DE    ALARCO*N.  8 1 

rare  beetles  under  the  bark  of  the  decayed 
pines,  and  eating  a  cold  lunch  out  of  a  ham- 
per which  we  had  paid  for  on  shares. 

This  took  place  in  1875.  It  was  the 
height  of  the  summer.  I  do  not  remember 
whether  it  was  Saint  James's  day  or  Saint 
Louis's ;  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  was  Saint 
Louis's.  Whichever  it  was,  we  enjoyed  a 
delicious  coolness  at  that  height,  and  the 
heart  and  brain,  as  well  as  the  stomach,  were 
there  in  much  better  working  order  than 
usual. 

When  the  six  friends  were  seated,  Gabriel 
continued  as  follows : 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  accuse  me  of 
being  a  visionary.  Luckily  or  unluckily,  I 
am,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  a  man  of 
the  modern  world.  I  have  no  superstition 
about  me,  and  am  as  much  of  a  Positivist 
as  the  best  of  them,  although  I  include 
among  the  positive  data  of  nature  all  the 
mysterious  faculties  and  feelings  of  the  soul. 
Well,  then,  apropos  of  supernatural,  or  ex- 
tra-natural, phenomena,  listen  to  what  I  have 
seen  and  heard,  although  I  was  not  the  real 
hero  of  the  very  strange  story  I  am  going  to 
6 


82  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

relate,  and  then  tell  me  what  explanation  of 
an  earthly,  physical,  or  natural  sort,  however 
you  may  name  it,  can  be  given  of  so  wonder- 
ful an  occurrence. 

"The  case  was  as  follows.  But  wait! 
Pour  me  out  a  drop,  for  the  skin-bottle  must 
have  got  cooled  off  by  this  time  in  that  bub- 
bling, crystalline  spring,  located  by  Provi- 
dence on  this  piny  crest  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  cooling  a  botanist's  wine." 


,    n. 

"  Well,  gentleme^,  I  do  not  know  whether 
you  ever  heard  of  alfcngineer  of  the  roads 

corps  named  TelesfoJ^C ;  he  died  in 

1860." 

"No;  I  haven't." 

"  But  I  have." 

"  So  have  I.  He  was  a  young  fellow  from 
Andalusia,  with  a  black  mustache;  he  was 
to  have  married  the  Marquis  of  Moreda's 
daughter,  but  he  died  of  jaundice." 

"The  very  one,"  said  Gabriel.  "Well, 
then,  my  friend  Telesforo,  six  months  before 
his  death,  was  still  a  most  promising  young 


PEDRO   ANTONIO    DE   ALARC<5N. 


to  be, 


man,  as  they  say  nowadays.  He  was  good- 
looking,  well  built,  energetic,  and  had  the 
glory  of  being  the  first  one  in  his  class 
promoted.  He  had  already  gained  distil 
tion  in  the  practice  of  his  profession 
some  fine  pieces  of  work.  Several  dii 
companies  were  competing  for  his  services, 
and  many  marriageable  women  were  also 
competing  for  him.  But  Telesforo,  as  you 
said,  was  faithful  to  poor  Joaquina  Mo- 
reda. 

"As  you  know,  it  turned^rTthat  she  died 
suddenly  at  the  baths  ^ftanta  Agueda,  at 
the  end  of  the  summfrmi  1859.     I  was  in 
Pau  when  I  receive 
death,  which  affecj 


sad  news  of  her 
very  much  on  ac- 
dship  with  Telesforo. 
:en  only  once,  in  the 
wife  of  General  Lo- 


count  of  my  clos 
With  her  I  h 
house  of  her 
pez,  and  I  certainly  thought  her  bluish  pal- 
lor a  symptom  of  bad  health.  But,  however 
that  may  be,  she  had  a  distinguished  man- 
ner and  a  great  deal  of  grace,  and  was,  be- 
sides, the  only  daughter  of  a  title,  and  a  title 
that  carried  some  comfortable  thousands 
with  it;  so  I  felt  sure  my  good  mathemati- 


84  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

cian  would  be  inconsolable.  Consequently, 
as  soon  as  I  was  back  in  Madrid,  fifteen  or 
twenty  days  after  his  loss,  I  went  to  see  him 
very  early  one  morning.  He  lived  in  ele- 
gant bachelor  quarters  in  Lobo  Street — I  do 
not  remember  the  number,  but  it  was  near 
the  Carrera  de  San  Jerdnimo. 

"The  young  engineer  was  very  melan- 
choly, although  calm  and  apparently  master 
of  his  grief.  He  was  already  at  work,  even 
at  that  hour,  laboring  with  his  assistants 
over  some  railroad  plans  or  other.  He  was 
dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

"  He  greeted  me  with  a  long  and  close  em- 
brace, without  so  much  as  sighing.  Then  he 
gave  some  directions  to  his  assistants  about 
the  work  in  hand,  and  afterwards  led  me  to 
his  private  office  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
house.  As  we  were  on  our  way  there  he 
said,  in  a  sorrowful  tone  and  without  glan- 
cing at  me : 

"  '  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come.  Several 
times  I  have  found  myself  wishing  you  were 
here.  A  very  strange  thing  has  happened 
to  me.  Only  a  friend  such  as  you  are  can 
hear  of  it  without  thinking  me  either  a  fool 


PEDRO   ANTONIO    DE   ALARC^N.  85 

or  crazy.  I  want  to  get  an  opinion  about  it 
as  calm  and  cool  as  science  itself. 

" '  Sit  down,'  he  went  on  when  we  had 
reached  his  office,  'and  do  not  imagine  that 
I  am  going  to  afflict  you  with  a  description 
of  the  sorrow  I  am  suffering — a  sorrow  which 
will  last  as  long  as  I  live.  Why  should  I  ? 
You  can  easily  picture  it  to  yourself,  little 
as  you  know  of  trouble.  And  as  for  being 
comforted,  I  do  not  wish  to  be,  either  now, 
or  later,  or  ever !  What  I  am  going  to  speak 
to  you  about,  with  the  requisite  deliberation, 
going  back  to  the  very  beginning  of  the 
thing,  is  a  horrible  and  mysterious  occur- 
rence, which  was  an  infernal  omen  of  my 
calamity,  and  which  has  distressed  me  in  a 
frightful  manner.' 

"'Go  on,'  I  replied,  sitting  down.  The 
fact  was,  I  almost  repented  having  entered 
the  house,  as  I  saw  the  expression  of  abject 
fear  on  my  friend's  face. 

"  '  Listen,  then,'  said  he,  wiping  the  perspi- 
ration from  his  forehead." 


86  MODERN  GHOSTS. 


III. 

" '  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  due  to  some 
inborn  fatality  of  imagination,  or  to  having 
heard  some  story  or  other  of  the  kind  with 
which  children  are  so  rashly  allowed  to  be 
frightened,  but  the  fact  is,  that  since  my 
earliest  years,  nothing  has  caused  me  so 
much  horror  and  alarm  as  a  woman  alone, 
in  the  street,  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night. 
The  effect  is  the  same  whether  I  actually 
encounter  her,  or  simply  have  an  image  of 
her  in  my  mind. 

"  '  You  can  testify  that  I  was  never  a  cow- 
ard. I  fought  a  duel  once,  when  I  had  to, 
like  any  other  man.  Just  after  I  had  left 
the  School  of  Engineers,  my  workmen  in 
Despenaperros  revolted,  and  I  fought  them 
with  stick  and  pistol  until  I  made  them  sub- 
mit. All  my  life  long,  in  Jaen,  in  Madrid, 
and  elsewhere,  I  have  walked  the  streets  at 
all  hours,  alone  and  unarmed,  and  if  I  have 
chanced  to  run  upon  suspicious-looking  per- 
sons, thieves,  or  mere  sneaking  beggars,  they 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARCO*N.  87 

have  had  to  get  out  of  my  way  or  take  to 
their  heels.  But  if  the  person  turned  out  to 
be  a  solitary  woman,  standing  still  or  walk- 
ing, and  I  was  also  alone,  with  no  one  in 
sight  in  any  direction  —  then  (laugh  if  you 
want  to,  but  believe  me)  I  would  be  all  cov- 
ered over  with  goose-flesh ;  vague  fears  would 
assail  me;  I  would  think  about  beings  of 
the  other  world,  about  imaginary  existences, 
and  about  all  the  superstitious  stories  which 
would  make  me  laugh  under  other  circum- 
stances. I  would  quicken  my  pace,  or  else 
turn  back,  and  would  not  get  over  my  fright 
in  the  least  until  safe  in  my  own  house. 

"  *  Once  there  I  would  fall  a-laughing,  and 
would  be  ashamed  of  my  crazy  fears.  The 
only  comfort  I  had  was  that  nobody  knew 
anything  about  it.  Then  I  would  dispassion- 
ately remind  myself  that  I  did  not  believe 
in  goblins,  witches,  or  ghosts,  and  that  I 
had  no  reason  whatever  to  be  afraid  of  that 
wretched  woman  driven  from  her  home  at 
such  an  hour  by  poverty,  or  some  crime,  or 
accident,  to  whom  I  might  better  have  offer- 
ed help,  if  she  needed  it,  or  given  alms. 
Nevertheless,  the  pitiable  scene  would  be 


88  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

gone  over  again  as  often  as  a  similar  thing 
occurred — and  remember  that  I  was  twenty- 
four  years  old,  that  I  had  experienced  a  great 
many  adventures  by  night,  and  yet  that  I 
had  never  had  the  slightest  difficulty  of  any 
sort  with  such  solitary  women  in  the  streets 
after  midnight !  But  nothing  of  what  I  have 
so  far  told  you  ever  came  to  have  any  im- 
portance, since  that  irrational  fear  always 
left  me  as  soon  as  I  reached  home,  or  saw 
any  one  else  in  the  street,  and  I  would  scarce- 
ly recall  it  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  any 
more  than  one  would  recall  a  stupid  mistake 
which  had  no  result  of  any  consequence. 

"  '  Things  were  going  on  so,  when,  nearly 
three  years  ago  (unhappily,  I  have  good  rea- 
son for  knowing  the  date ,  it  was  the  night  of 
November  15-16,  1857),  I  was  coming  home 
at  three  in  the  morning.  As  you  remember, 
I  was  living  then  in  that  little  house  in 
Jardines  Street,  near  Montera  Street.  I  had 
just  come,  at  that  late  hour,  a  bitter,  cold 
wind  blowing  at  the  time,  out  of  a  sort  of  a 
gambling-house — I  tell  you  this,  although  I 
know  it  will  surprise  you.  You  know  that  I 
am  not  a  gambler.  I  went  into  the  place, 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARCO*N.  89 

deceived  by  an  alleged  friend.  But  the  fact 
was,  that  as  people  began  to  drop  in  about 
midnight,  coming  from  receptions  or  the 
theatre,  the  play  began  to  be  very  heavy, 
and  one  saw  the  gleam  of  gold  in  plenty. 
Then  came  bank-bills,  and  notes  of  hand. 
Little  by  little  I  was  carried  away  by  the 
feverish  and  seductive  passion,  and  lost  all 
the  money  I  had.  I  even  went  away  owing 
a  round  sum,  for  which  I  had  left  my  note 
behind  me.  In  short,  I  ruined  myself  com- 
pletely; and  but  for  the  legacy  that  came  to 
me  afterwards,  together  with  the  good  jobs 
I  have  had,  my  situation  would  have  been 
extremely  critical  and  painful. 

" '  So  I  was  going  home,  I  say,  at  so  late  an 
hour  that  night,  numb  with  the  cold,  hungry, 
ashamed,  and  disgusted  as  you  can  imagine, 
thinking  about  my  sick  old  father  more  than 
about  myself.  I  should  have  to  write  to 
him  for  money,  and  this  would  astonish  as 
much  as  it  would  grieve  him,  since  he  thought 
me  in  very  easy  circumstances.  Just  before 
reaching  my  street,  where  it  crosses  Peligros 
Street,  as  I  was  walking  in  front  of  a  newly 
built  house,  I  perceived  something  in  its 


90  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

door-way.  It  was  a  tall,  large  woman,  stand- 
ing stiff  and  motionless,  as  if  made  of  wood. 
She  seemed  to  be  about  sixty  years  old.  Her 
bold  and  malignant  eyes,  unshaded  by  eye- 
lashes, were  fixed  on  mine  like  two  daggers. 
Her  toothless  mouth  made  a  horrible  gri- 
mace at  me,  meant  to  be  a  smile. 

" '  The  very  terror  or  delirium  of  fear  which 
instantly  overcame  me  gave  me  somehow  a 
most  acute  perception,  so  that  I  could  dis- 
tinguish at  a  glance,  in  the  two  seconds  it 
took  me  to  pass  by  that  repugnant  vision, 
the  slightest  details  of  her  face  and  dress. 
Let  me  see  if  I  can  put  together  my  impres- 
sions in  the  way  and  form  in  which  I  re- 
ceived them,  as  they  were  engraved  inef- 
faceably  on  my  brain  in  the  light  of  the 
street-lamp  which  shone  luridly  over  that 
ghastly  scene.  But  I  am  exciting  myself  too 
much,  though  there  is  reason  enough  for  it, 
as  you  will  see  further  on.  Don't  be  con. 
cerned,  however,  for  the  state  of  my  mind. 
I  am  not  yet  crazy  ! 

"  'The  first  thing  which  struck  me  in  that 
woman,  as  I  will  call  her,  was  her  extreme 
height  and  the  breadth  of  her  bony  shoui- 


PEDRO   ANTONIO    DE    ALARCdN.  91 

ders.  Then,  the  roundness  and  fixity  of  her 
dry,  owl-eyes,  the  enormous  size  of  her  pro- 
truding nose,  and  the  great  dark"  cavern  of 
her  mouth.  Finally,  her  dress,  like  that  of  a 
young  woman  of  Avapie's — the  new  little 
cotton  handkerchief  which  she  wore  on  her 
head,  tied  under  her  chin,  and  a  diminutive 
fan  which  she  carried  opened  in  her  hand, 
and  with  which,  in  affected  modesty,  she  was 
covering  the  middle  of  her  waist. 

"'Nothing  could  be  at  the  same  time  more 
ridiculous  and  more  awful,  more  laughable 
and  more  taunting,  than  that  little  fan  in 
those  huge  hands.  It  seemed  like  a  make- 
believe  sceptre  in  the  hands  of  such  an  old, 
hideous,  and  bony  giantess !  A  like  effect 
was  produced  by  the  showy  percale  handker- 
chief adorning  her  face  by  the  side  of  that 
cut-water  nose,  hooked  and  masculine ;  for  a 
moment  I  was  led  to  believe  (or  I  was  very 
glad  to)  that  it  was  a  man  in  disguise. 

"  *  But  her  cynical  glance  and  harsh  smile 
were  those  of  a  hag,  of  a  witch,  an  enchant- 
ress, a  Fate,  a — I  know  not  what !  There 
was  something  about  her  to  justify  fully  the 
aversion  and  fright  which  I  had  been  caused 


92  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

all  my  life  long  by  women  walking  alone  in 
the  streets  at  night.  One  would  have  said 
that  I  had  had  a  presentiment  of  that  en- 
counter from  my  cradle.  One  would  have 
said  that  I  was  frightened  by  it  instinctively, 
as  every  living  being  fears  and  divines,  and 
scents  and  recognizes,  its  natural  enemy  be- 
fore ever  being  injured  by  it,  before  ever 
having  seen  it,  and  solely  on  hearing  its 
tread. 

" '  I  did  not  dash  away  in  a  run  when  I 
saw  my  life's  sphinx.  I  restrained  my  im- 
pulse to  do  so,  less  out  of  shame  and  manly 
pride  than  out  of  fear  lest  my  very  fright 
should  reveal  to  her  who  I  was,  or  should 
give  her  wings  to  follow  me,  to  overtake  me 
— I  do  not  know  what.  Panic  like  that 
dreams  of  dangers  which  have  neither  form 
nor  name. 

" '  My  house  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
long  and  narrow  street,  in  which  I  was  alone, 
entirely  alone  with  that  mysterious  phantom 
whom  I  thought  able  to  annihilate  me  with 
a  word.  How  should  I  ever  get  home  ?  Oh, 
how  anxiously  I  looked  towards  that  dis- 
tant Montera  Street,  broad  and  well  lighted, 


PEDRO    ANTONIO   DE    ALARC(5N.  93 

where  there  are  policemen  to  be  found  at  all 
hours  !  I  decided,  finally,  to  get  "the  better 
of  my  weakness ;  to  dissemble  and  hide  that 
wretched  fear;  not  to  hasten  my  pace,  but 
to  keep  on  advancing  slowly,  even  at  the 
cost  of  years  of  health  or  life,  and  in  this 
way,  little  by  little,  to  go  on  getting  nearer 
to  my  house,  exerting  myself  to  the  utmost 
not  to  fall  fainting  on  the  ground  before  I 
reached  it. 

'"I  was  walking  along  in  this  way — I  must 
have  taken  about  twenty  steps  after  leaving 
behind  me  the  door-way  where  the  woman 
with  the  fan  was  hidden,  when  suddenly  a 
horrible  idea  came  to  me — horrible,  yet  very 
natural  nevertheless — the  idea  that  I  would 
look  back  to  see  if  my  enemy  was  following 
me.  One  thing  or  the  other  I  thought,  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  flash  of  lightning :  either 
my  alarm  has  some  foundation  or  it  is  mad- 
ness; if  it  has  any  foundation,  this  woman 
will  have  started  after  me,  will  be  overtaking 
me,  and  there  is  no  hope  for  me  on  earth. 
But  if  it  is  madness,  a  mere  supposition,  a 
panic  fright  like  any  other,  I  will  convince 
myself  of  it  in  the  present  instance,  and  for 


94  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

every  case  that  may  occur  hereafter,  by  see- 
ing that  that  poor  old  woman  has  stayed  in 
that  door-way  to  protect  herself  from  the 
cold,  or  to  wait  till  the  door  is  opened ;  and 
thereupon  I  can  go  on  to  my  house  in  per- 
fect tranquillity,  and  I  shall  have  cured  my- 
self of  a  fancy  that  causes  me  great  mortifi- 
cation. 

" '  This  reasoning  gone  through  with,  I 
made  an  extraordinary  effort  and  turned  my 
head.  Ah,  Gabriel ! — Gabriel !  how  fearful 
it  was !  The  tall  woman  had  followed  me 
with  silent  tread,  was  right  over  me,  almost 
touching  me  with  her  fan,  almost  leaning 
her  head  on  my  shoulder. 

"  <  Why  was  she  doing  it  ? — why,  my  Ga- 
briel ?  Was  she  a  thief  ?  Was  she  really  a 
man  in  disguise  ?  Was  she  some  malicious 
old  hag  who  had  seen  that  I  was  afraid  of 
her  ?  Was  she  a  spectre  conjured  up  by  my 
very  cowardice  ?  Was  she  a  mocking  phan- 
tasm of  human  self-deception  ? 

" '  I  could  never  tell  you  all  I  thought  in  a 
single  moment.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I 
gave  a  scream  and  flew  away  like  a  child  of 
four  years  who  thinks  he  sees  the  Black 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARCO*N.  95 

Man.  I  did  not  stop  running  until  I  got 
out  into  Montera  Street.  Once  there,  my 
fear  left  me  like  magic.  This  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  that  street  also  was  deserted. 
Then  I  turned  my  head  to  look  back  to  Jar- 
dines  Street.  I  could  see  down  its  whole 
length.  It  was  lighted  well  enough  for  me 
to  see  the  tall  woman,  if  she  had  drawn 
back  in  any  direction,  and,  by  Heaven !  I 
could  not  see  her,  standing  still,  walking,  or 
in  any  way !  However,  I  was  very  careful 
not  to  go  back  into  that  street  again.  The 
wretch,  I  said  to  myself,  has  slunk  into 
some  other  door-way.  But  she  can't  move 
without  my  seeing  her. 

" '  Just  then  I  saw  a  policeman  coming  up 
Caballero  de  Gracia  Street,  and  I  shouted 
to  him  without  stirring  from  my  place.  I 
told  him  that  there  was  a  man  dressed  as  a 
woman  in  Jardines  Street.  I  directed  him 
to  go  round  by  the  way  of  Peligros  and  Adu- 
ana  streets,  while  I  would  remain  where  I 
was,  and  in  that  way  the  fellow,  who  was 
probably  a  thief  or  murderer,  could  not  es- 
cape us.  The  policeman  did  as  I  said.  He 
went  through  Aduana  Street,  and  as  soon 


96  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

as  I  saw  his  lantern  coming  along  Jardines 
Street  I  also  went  up  it  resolutely. 

"  'We  soon  met  at  about  the  middle  of  the 
block,  without  either  of  us  having  encoun- 
tered a  soul,  although  we  had  examined  door 
after  door. 

"  ' "  He  has  got  into  some  house,"  said  the 
policeman. 

"  'That  must  be  so,  I  replied,  opening  my 
door  with  the  fixed  purpose  of  moving  to 
some  other  street  the  next  day. 

"'A  few  moments  later  I  was  in  my  room; 
I  always  carried  my  latch-key,  so  as  not  to 
have  to  disturb  my  good  Jose.  .  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  waiting  for  me  that  night.  My 
misfortunes  of  the  i5th  and  i6th  of  Novem- 
ber were  not  yet  ended. 

"'What  has  happened?  I  asked  him,  in 
surprise. 

'""Major  Falcdn  was  here,"  he  replied, 
with  evident  agitation, "  waiting  for  you  from 
eleven  till  half-past  two,  and  he  told  me  that, 
if  you  came  home  to  sleep,  you  had  better 
not  undress,  as  he  would  be  back  at  day- 
break." 

" '  Those  words  left  me  trembling  with  grief 


PEDRO   ANTONIO    DE   ALARCON.  97 

and  alarm,  as  if  they  had  predicted  my  own 
death  to  me.  I  knew  that  my  beloved  father, 
at  his  home  in  Jaen,  had  been  suffering  fre- 
quent and  dangerous  attacks  of  his  chronic 
disease.  I  had  written  to  my  brothers  that, 
if  there  should  be  a  sudden  and  fatal  termi- 
nation of  the  sickness,  they  were  to  telegraph 
Major  Falc6n,  who  would  inform  me  in  some 
suitable  way.  I  had  not  the  slightest  doubt, 
therefore,  that  my  father  had  died. 

"  *  I  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  to  wait  for 
the  morning  and  my  friend,  and,  with  them, 
the  news  of  my  great  misfortune.  God  only 
knows  what  I  suffered  in  those  two  cruel 
hours  of  waiting.  All  the  while,  three  dis- 
tinct ideas  were  inseparably  joined  in  my 
mind ;  though  they  seemed  unlike,  they  took 
pains,  as  it  were,  to  keep  in  a  dreadful  group. 
They  were:  my  losses  at  play,  my  meeting 
with  the  tall  woman,  and  the  death  of  my 
revered  father. 

" '  Precisely  at  six  Major  Falcon  came  into 
my  room,  and  looked  at  me  in  silence.  I 
threw  myself  into  his  arms,  weeping  bitterly, 
and  he  exclaimed,  caressing  me : 

" '  "  Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  weep,  weep." 
7 


98  MODERN   GHOSTS. 


IV. 

"  My  friend  Telesforo,"  Gabriel  went  on, 
after  having  drained  another  glass  of  wine, 
"  also  rested  a  moment  when  he  reached  this 
point,  and  then  he  proceeded  as  follows : 

" '  If  my  story  ended  here,  perhaps  you 
would  not  find  anything  extraordinary  or  su- 
pernatural in  it.  You  would  say  to  me  the 
same  thing  that  men  of  good  judgment  said 
to  me  at  that  time :  that  every  one  who  has 
a  lively  imagination  is  subject  to.  some  im- 
pulse of  fear  or  other;  that  mine  came  from 
belated,  solitary  women,  and  that  the  old 
creature  of  Jardines  Street  was  only  some 
homeless  waif  who  was  going  to  beg  of  me 
when  I  screamed  and  ran. 

"  '  For  my  part,  I  tried  to  believe  that  it 
was  so.  I  even  came  to  believe  it  at  the 
end  of  several  months.  Still,  I  would  have 
given  years  of  my  life  to  be  sure  that  I  was 
not  again  to  encounter  the  tall  woman.  But, 
to-day,  I  would  give  every  drop  of  my  blood 
to  be  able  to  meet  her  again.' 


PEDRO    ANTONIO   DE  ALARC6N.  99 

"  What  for  ? 

"  '  To  kill  her  on  the  spot* 

"  I  do  not  understand  you. 

"  *  You  will  understand  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  did  meet  her  again,  three  weeks  ago, 
a  few  hours  before  I  had  the  fatal  news  of 
my  poor  Joaquina's  death.' 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  tell  me  about  it ! 

"  '  There  is  little  more  to  tell.  It  was  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  not  yet  fully 
light,  though  the  dawn  was  visible  from  the 
streets  looking  towards  the  east.  The  street- 
lamps  had  just  been  put  out,  and  the  police- 
men had  withdrawn.  As  I  was  going  through 
Prado  Street,  so  as  to  get  to  the  other  end 
of  Lobo  Street,  the  dreadful  woman  crossed 
in  front  of  me.  She  did  not  look  at  me,  and 
I  thought  she  had  not  seen  me. 

" '  She  wore  the  same  dress  and  carried  the 
same  fan  as  three  years  before.  My  trepi- 
dation and  alarm  were  greater  than  ever.  I 
ran  rapidly  across  Prado  Street  as  soon  as 
she  had  passed,  although  I  did  not  take  my 
eyes  off  her,  so  as  to  make  sure  that  she  did 
not  look  back,  and,  when  I  had  reached  the 
other  end  of  Lobo  Street,  I  panted  as  if  I 


100  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

had  just  swum  an  impetuous  stream.  Then 
I  pressed  on  with  fresh  speed  towards  home, 
filled  now  with  gladness  rather  than  fear,  for 
I  thought  that  the  hateful  witch  had  been  con- 
quered and  shorn  of  her  power,  from  the 
very  fact  that  I  had  been  so  near  her  and 
yet  that  she  had  not  seen  me. 

"  *  But  soon,  and  when  I  had  almost  reach- 
ed this  house,  a  rush  of  fear  swept  over  me, 
in  the  thought  that  the  crafty  old  hag  had 
seen  and  recognized  me,  that  she  had  made 
a  pretence  of  not  knowing  me  so  as  to  let 
me  get  into  Lobo  Street,  where  it  was  still 
rather  dark,  and  where  she  might  set  upon 
me  in  safety,  that  she  would  follow  me,  that 
she  was  already  over  me. 

"  'Upon  this,  I  looked  around — and  there 
she  was !  There  at  my  shoulder,  almost 
touching  rne  with  her  clothes,  gazing  at  me 
with  her  horrible  little  eyes,  displaying  the 
gloomy  cavern  of  her  mouth,  fanning  herself 
in  a  mocking  manner,  as  if  to  make  fun  of 
my  childish  alarm. 

"  *  I  passed  from  dread  to  the  most  furious 
anger,  to  savage  and  desperate  rage.  I 
dashed  at  the  heavy  old  creature.  I  flung 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARCO*N.         IOI 

her  against  the  wall.  I  put  my  hand  to  her 
throat.  I  felt  of  her  face,  her  breast,  the 
straggling  locks  of  her  gray  hair,  until  I  was 
thoroughly  convinced  that  she  was  a  human 
being — a  woman. 

" '  Meanwhile  she  had  uttered  a  howl 
which  was  hoarse  and  piercing  at  the  same 
time.  It  seemed  false  and  feigned  to  me, 
like  the  hypocritical  expression  of  a  fear 
which  she  did  not  really  feel.  Immediately 
afterwards  she  exclaimed,  making  believe 
cry,  though  she  was  not  crying,  but  looking 
at  me  with  her  hyena  eyes : 

" '  "  Why  have  you  picked  a  quarrel  with 
me?" 

"  *  This  remark  increased  my  fright  and 
weakened  my  wrath. 

"  *  Then  you  remember,  I  cried,  that  you 
have  seen  me  somewhere  else. 

" '  "  I  should  say  so,  my  dear,"  she  replied, 
mockingly.  "  Saint  Eugene's  night,  in  Jar- 
dines  Street,  three  years  ago." 

"  '  My  very  marrow  was  chilled. 

" '  But  who  are  you  ?  I  asked,  without  let- 
ting go  of  her.  Why  do  you  follow  me? 
What  business  have  you  with  me  ? 


102  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"'"I  am  a  poor  weak  woman,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  devilish  leer.  "  You  hate  me, 
and  you  are  afraid  of  me  without  any  rea- 
son. If  not,  tell  me,  good  sir,  why  you  were 
so  frightened  the  first  time  you  saw  me." 

" '  Because  I  have  loathed  you  ever  since 
I  was  born.  Because  you  are  the  evil  spirit 
of  my  life. 

"  '  "  It  seems,  then,  that  you  have  known 
me  for  a  long  time.  Well,  look,  my  son,  so 
have  I  known  you." 

"  '  You  have  known  me  ?     How  long  ? 

" ' "  Since  before  you  were  born  !  And 
when  I  saw  you  pass  by  me,  three  years  ago, 
I  said  to  myself,  that's  the  one" 

"  '  But  what  am  I  to  you  ?  What  are  you 
to  me? 

"  «  "  The  devil !"  replied  the  hag,  spitting 
full  in  my  face,  freeing  herself  from  my  grasp, 
and  running  away  with  amazing  swiftness. 
She  held  her  skirts  higher  than  her  knees, 
and  her  feet  did  not  make  the  slightest  noise 
as  they  touched  the  ground. 

"'It  was  madness  to  try  to  catch  her. 
Besides,  people  were  already  passing  through 
the  Carrera  de  San  Jerdnimo,  and  in  Pra- 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARC6N.         103 

do  Street,  too.  It  was  broad  daylight.  The 
tall  woman  kept  on  running,  or  flying,  as 
far  as  Huertas  Street,  which  was  now  light- 
ed up  by  the  sun.  There  she  stopped  to 
look  back  at  me.  She  waved  her  closed 
fan  at  me  once  or  twice,  threateningly,  and 
then  disappeared  around  a  corner. 

"  '  Wait  a  little  longer,  Gabriel.  Do  not 
yet  pronounce  judgment  in  this  case,  where 
my  life  and  soul  are  concerned.  Listen  to 
me  two  minutes  longer. 

" '  When  I  entered  my  house  I  met  Colo- 
nel Falcon,  who  had  just  come  to  tell  me 
that  my  Joaquina,  my  betrothed,  all  my  hope 
and  happiness  and  joy  on  earth,  had  died 
the  day  before  in  Santa  Agueda.  The  un- 
fortunate father  had  telegraphed  Falcon  to 
tell  me — me,  who  should  have  divined  it  an 
hour  before,  when  I  met  the  evil  spirit  of 
my  life !  Don't  you  understand,  now,  that 
I  must  kill  that  born  enemy  of  my  happi- 
ness, that  vile  old  hag,  who  is  the  living 
mockery  of  my  destiny  ? 

" '  But  why  do  I  say  kill  ?  Is  she  a  wom- 
an ?  Is  she  a  human  being  ?  Why  have  I 
had  a  presentiment  of  her  ever  since  I  was 


104  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

born  ?  Why  did  she  recognize  me  when  she 
first  saw  me  ?  Why  do  I  never  see  her  ex- 
cept when  some  great  calamity  has  befallen 
me?  Is  she  Satan?  Is  she  Death?  Is 
she  Life  ?  Is  she  Antichrist  ?  Who  is  she  ? 
What  is  she  ?'  " 


V. 

"  I  will  spare  you,  my  dear  friends,"  con- 
tinued Gabriel,  "the  arguments  and  remarks 
which  I  used  to  see  if  I  could  not  calm  Tel- 
esforo,  for  they  are  the  same,  precisely  the 
same,  which  you  are  preparing  now  to  ad- 
vance to  prove  that  there  is  nothing  super- 
natural or  superhuman  in  my  story.  You 
will  even  go  further;  you  will  say  that  my 
friend  was  half  crazy;  that  he  always  was 
so ;  that,  at  least,  he  suffered  from  that 
moral  disease  which  some  call '  panic  terror,' 
and  others  'emotional  insanity;'  that,  even 
granting  the  truth  of  what  I  have  related 
about  the  tall  woman,  it  must  all  be  referred 
to  chance  coincidences  of  dates  and  events ; 
and,  finally,  that  the  poor  old  creature  could 
also  have  been  crazy,  or  a  thief,  or  a  beggar, 


PEDRO  ANTONIO  DE  ALARCON.    105 

or  a  procuress — as  the  hero  of  my  story  said 
to  himself  in  a  lucid  interval." 

"A  very  proper  supposition!"  exclaimed 
Gabriel's  comrades ;  "  that  is  just  what  we 
were  going  to  say." 

"Well,  listen  a  few  minutes  longer,  and 
you  will  see  that  I  was  mistaken  at  the  time, 
as  you  are  mistaken  now.  The  one  who 
unfortunately  made  no  mistake  was  Teles- 
foro.  It  is  much  easier  to  speak  the  word 
'  insanity '  than  to  find  an  explanation  for 
some  things  that  happen  on  the  earth." 

"Speak,  speak!" 

"I  am  going  to;  and  this  time,  as  it  is  the 
last,  I  will  pick  up  the  thread  of  my  story 
without  first  drinking  a  glass  of  wine." 


VI. 

"A  few  days  after  that  conversation  with 
Telesforo  I  was  sent  to  the  province  of 
Albacete  in  my  capacity  as  engineer  of 
the  mountain  corps.  Not  many  weeks  had 
passed  before  I  learned,  from  a  contractor 
for  public  works,  that  my  unhappy  friend 
had  been  attacked  by  a  dreadful  form  of 


106  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

jaundice ;  it  had  turned  him  entirely  green, 
and  he  reclined  in  an  arm-chair  without 
working  or  wishing  to  see  anybody,  weep- 
ing night  and  day  in  the  most  inconsolable 
and  bitter  grief.  The  doctors  had  given  up 
hope  of  his  getting  well. 

"  This  made  me  understand  why  he  had 
not  answered  my  letters.  I  had  to  resort  to 
Colonel  Falcon  as  a  source  of  news  of  him 
and  all  the  while  the  reports  kept  getting 
more  unfavorable  and  gloomy. 

"  After  an  absence  of  five  months  I  re- 
turned to  Madrid  the  same  day  that  the  tel- 
egraph brought  the  news  of  the  battle  of 
Tetuan.  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yester- 
day. That  night  I  bought  the  indispensable 
Correspondencia  de  Espana,  and  the  first  thing 
I  read  in  it  was  the  notice  of  Telesforo's 
death.  His  friends  were  invited  to  the  fu- 
neral the  following  morning. 

"You  will  be  sure  that  I  was  present. 
As  we  arrived  at  the  San  Luis  cemetery, 
whither  I  rode  in  one  of  the  carriages  near- 
est the  hearse,  my  attention  was  called  to 
a  peasant  woman.  She  was  old  and  very 
tall.  She  was  laughing  sacrilegiously  as  she 


PEDRO   ANTONIO    DE   ALARCO*N.         107 

saw  them  taking  out  the  coffin.  Then  she 
placed  herself  in  front  of  the  pall-bearers  in 
a  triumphant  attitude  and  pointed  out  to 
them  with  a  very  small  fan  the  passage-way 
they  were  to  take  to  reach  the  open  and 
waiting  grave. 

"At  the  first  glance  I  perceived,  with 
amazement  and  alarm,  that  she  was  Teles- 
foro's  implacable  enemy.  She  was  just  as 
he  had  described  her  to  me — with  her  enor- 
mous nose,  her  devilish  eyes,  her  awful 
mouth,  her  percale  handkerchief,  and  that 
diminutive  fan  which  seemed  in  her  hands 
the  sceptre  of  indecency  and  mockery. 

"  She  immediately  observed  that  I  was 
looking  at  her,  and  fixed  her  gaze  upon  me 
in  a  peculiar  manner,  as  if  recognizing  me, 
as  if  letting  me  know  that  she  recognized 
me,  as  if  acquainted  with  the  fact  that  the 
dead  man  had  told  me  about  the  scenes  in 
Jardines  Street  and  Lobo  Street,  as  if  defy- 
ing me,  as  if  declaring  me  the  inheritor  of 
the  hate  which  she  had  cherished  for  my 
unfortunate  friend. 

"  I  confess  that  at  the  time  my  fright 
was  greater  than  my  wonder  at  those  new 


108  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

coincidences  and  accidents.  It  seemed  evident 
to  me  that  some  supernatural  relation,  ante- 
cedent to  earthly  life,  had  existed  between 
the  mysterious  old  woman  and  Telesforo. 
But  for  the  time  being  my  sole  concern  was 
about  my  own  life,  my  own  soul,  my  own 
happiness — all  of  which  would  be  exposed 
to  the  greatest  peril  if  I  should  really  inherit 
such  a  curse. 

"The  tall  woman  began  to  laugh.  She 
pointed  at  me  contemptuously  with  the  fan, 
as  if  she  had  read  my  thoughts  and  were 
publicly  exposing  my  cowardice.  I  had  to 
lean  on  a  friend's  arm  to  keep  myself  from 
falling.  Then  she  made  a  pitying  or  dis- 
dainful gesture,  turned  on  her  heels,  and 
went  into  the  cemetery.  Her  head  was 
turned  towards  me.  She  fanned  herself  and 
nodded  to  me  at  the  same  time.  She  sidled 
along  among  the  graves  with  an  indescriba- 
ble, infernal  coquetry  until  at  last  she  disap- 
peared forever  in  that  labyrinth  of  tombs. 

"I  say  forever,  since  fifteen  years  have 
passed  and  I  have  never  seen  her  again.  If 
she  was  a  human  being  she  must  have  died 
before  this;  if  she  was  not,  I  rest  in  the  con- 


PEDRO   ANTONIO   DE   ALARC($N.         109 

viction  that  she  despised  me  too  much  to 
meddle  with  me. 

"  Now,  then,  bring  on  your  theories ! 
Give  me  your  opinion  about  these  strange 
events.  Do  you  still  regard  them  as  entire- 
ly natural  ?" 


ON  THE  RIVER. 

BY 

GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT. 


ON  THE  RIVER. 


I  HAD  rented,  last  summer,  a  little  country 
house  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine  a  few  miles 
from  Paris,  and  I  used  to  go  down  there  ev- 
ery night  to  sleep.  In  a  few  days  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  one  of  my  neighbors,  a 
man  between  thirty  and  forty,  who  was  cer- 
tainly the  most  curious  type  that  I  had  ever 
met.  He  was  an  old  rowing  man,  crazy 
about  rowing,  always  near  the  water,  always 
on  the  water,  always  in  the  water.  He  must 
have  been  born  in  a  boat,  and  he  would  cer- 
tainly die  in  a  boat  at  last. 

One  night,  while  we  were  walking  togeth- 
er along  the  Seine,  I  asked  him  to  tell  me 
some  stories  about  his  life  upon  the  river ; 
and  at  that  the  good  man  suddenly  became 
8 


114  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

animated,  transfigured,  eloquent,  almost  po- 
etical !  In  his  heart  there  was  one  great 
passion,  devouring  and  irresistible  —  the 
river. 

"  Ah  !"  said  he  to  me,  "  how  many  mem- 
ories I  have  of  that  river  which  is  flowing 
there  beside  us.  You  people  who  live  in 
streets,  you  don't  know  what  the  river  is. 
But  just  listen  to  a  fisherman  simply  pro- 
nouncing the  word.  For  him  it  is  the  thing 
mysterious,  the  thing  profound,  unknown, 
the  country  of  mirage  and  of  phantasmago- 
ria, where  one  sees,  at  night,  things  which 
do  not  exist,  where  one  hears  strange  noises, 
where  one  trembles  causelessly,  as  though 
crossing  a  graveyard.  And  it  is,  indeed, 
the  most  sinister  of  graveyards — a  grave- 
yard where  there  are  no  tombstones. 

"To  the  fisherman  the  land  seems  lim- 
ited, but  of  dark  nights,  when  there  is  no 
moon,  the  river  seems  limitless.  Sailors 
have  no  such  feeling  for  the  sea.  Hard  she 
often  is  and  wicked,  the  great  Sea;  but  she 
cries,  she  shouts,  she  deals  with  you  fairly, 
while  the  river  is  silent  and  treacherous.  It 
never  even  mutters,  it  flows  ever  noiselessly, 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  115 

and  this  eternal  flowing  movement  of  water 
terrifies  me  far  more  than  the  high  seas  of 
ocean. 

"  Dreamers  pretend  that  the  Sea  hides  in 
her  breast  great  blue  regions  where  drowned 
men  roll  to  and  fro  among  the  huge  fish,  in 
the  midst  of  strange  forests  and  in  crystal 
grottos.  The  river  has  only  black  depths, 
where  one  rots  in  the  slime.  For  all  that  it 
is  beautiful  when  it  glitters  in  the  rising  sun 
or  swashes  softly  along  between  its  banks 
where  the  reeds  murmur. 

"  The  poet  says  of  the  ocean  : 

"  '  Oh  seas,  you  know  sad  stories  !  Deep 
seas,  feared  by  kneeling  mothers,  you  tell 
the  stories  to  one  another  at  flood  tides! 
And  that  is  why  you  have  such  despairing 
voices  when  at  night  you  come  towards  us 
nearer  and  nearer/ 

"  Well,  I  think  that  the  stories  murmured 
by  the  slender  reeds  with  their  little  soft 
voices  must  be  yet  more  sinister  than  the 
gloomy  dramas  told  by  the  howling  of  the 
high  seas.  „ 

"But,  since  you  ask  for  some  of  my 
recollections,  I  will  tell  you  a  curious  ad- 


Il6  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

venture  which  I  had  here  about  ten  years 
ago. 

"  I  then  lived,  as  I  still  do,  in  the  house 
of  the  old  lady  Lafon,  and  one  of  my  best 
chums,  Louis  Bernet,  who  has  now  given  up 
for  the  Civil  Service  his  oars,  his  low  shoes, 
and  his  sleeveless  jersey,  lived  in  the  vil- 
lage of  C ,  two  leagues  farther  down. 

We  dined  together  every  day — sometimes  at 
his  place,  sometimes  at  mine. 

".One  evening  as  I  was  returning  home 
alone  and  rather  tired,  wearily  pulling  my 
heavy  boat,  a  twelve-footer,  which  I  always 
used  at  night,  I  stopped  a  few  seconds  to 
take  breath  near  the  point  where  so  many 
reeds  grow,  down  that  way,  about  two  hun- 
dred metres  before  you  come  to  the  railroad 
bridge.  It  was  a  beautiful  night ;  the  moon 
was  resplendent,  the  river  glittered,  the  air 
was  calm  and  soft.  The  tranquillity  of  it  all 
tempted  me ;  I  said  to  myself  that  to  smoke 
a  pipe  just  here  would  be  extremely  nice. 
Action  followed  upon  the  thought ;  I  seized 
my  anchor  and  threw  it  into  the  stream. 

"  The  boat,  which  floated  down  again  with 
the  current,  pulled  the  chain  out  to  its  full 


GUY  DE    MAUPASSANT.  117 

length,  then  stopped ;  and  I  seated  myself  in 
the  stern  en  a  sheepskin,  as  comfortable  as 
possible.  One  heard  no  sound — no  sound; 
only  sometimes  I  thought  I  was  aware  of  a 
low,  almost  insensible  lapping  of  the  water 
along  the  bank,  and  I  made  out  some  groups 
of  reeds  which,  taller  than  their  fellows, 
took  on  surprising  shapes,  and  seemed  from 
time  to  time  to  stir. 

"  The  river  was  perfectly  still,  but  I  felt 
myself  moved  by  the  extraordinary  silence 
which  surrounded  me.  All  the  animals — 
the  frogs  and  toads,  those  nocturnal  singers 
of  the  marshes — were  silent.  Suddenly  on 
my  right,  near  me,  a  frog  croaked ;  I  started ; 
it  was  silent;  I  heard  nothing  more,  and  I 
resolved  to  smoke  a  little  by  way  of  a  dis- 
traction. But  though  I  am,  so  to  speak,  a 
regular  blackener  of  pipes,  I  could  not 
smoke  that  night;  after  the  second  puff  I 
sickened  of  it,  and  I  stopped.  I  began  to 
hum  a  tune;  the  sound  of  my  voice  was 
painful  to  me;  so  I  stretched  myself  out  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  contemplated 
the  sky.  For  some  time  I  remained  quiet, 
but  soon  the  slight  movements  of  the  boat 


Il8  MODERN  GHOSTS. 

began  to  make  me  uneasy.  I  thought  that  it 
was  yawing  tremendously,  striking  now  this 
bank  of  the  stream,  and  now  that;  then  I 
thought  that  some  Being  or  some  invisible 
force  was  dragging  it  down  gently  to  the 
bottom  of  the  water,  and  then  was  lifting  it 
up  simply  to  let  it  fall  again.  I  was  tossed 
about  as  though  in  the  midst  of  a  storm ;  I 
heard  noises  all  around  me;  with  a  sudden 
start  I  sat  upright;  the  water  sparkled,  ev- 
erything was  calm. 

"  I  saw  that  my  nerves  were  unsettled, 
and  I  decided  to  go.  I  pulled  in  the  chain ; 
the  boat  moved;  then  I  was  conscious  of 
resistance ;  I  pulled  harder ;  the  anchor  did 
not  come  up,  it  had  caught  on  something  at 
the  bottom  of  the  river  and  I  could  not  lift 
it.  I  pulled  again — in  vain.  With  my  oars 
I  got  the  boat  round  up-stream  in  order  to 
change  the  position  of  the  anchor.  It  was 
no  use ;  the  anchor  still  held.  I  grew  angry, 
and  in  a  rage  I  shook  the  chain.  Nothing 
moved.  There  was  no  hope  of  breaking  the 
chain,  or  of  getting  it  loose  from  my  craft, 
because  it  was  very  heavy,  and  riveted  at  the 
bow  into  a  bar  of  wood  thicker  than  my 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  119 

arm ;  but  since  the  weather  continued  fine, 
I  reflected  that  I  should  not  have  to  wait 
long  before  meeting  some  fisherman,  who 
would  come  to  my  rescue.  My  mishap  had 
calmed  me ;  I  sat  down,  and  I  was  now  able 
to  smoke  my  pipe.  I  had  a  flask  of  bran- 
dy with  me ;  I  drank  two  or  three  glasses, 
and  my  situation  made  me  laugh.  It  was 
very  hot,  so  that,  if  needs  must,  I  could 
pass  the  night  under  the  stars  without  in- 
convenience. 

"  Suddenly  a  little  knock  sounded  against 
the  side.  I  started,  and  a  cold  perspiration 
froze  me  from  head  to  foot.  The  noise 
came,  no  doubt,  from  some  bit  of  wood 
drawn  along  by  the  current,  but  it  was 
enough,  and  I  felt  myself  again  overpow- 
ered by  a  strange  nervous  agitation.  I 
seized  the  chain,  and  I  stiffened  myself  in  a 
desperate  effort.  The  anchor  held.  I  sat 
down  exhausted. 

"  But,  little  by  little,  the  river  had  covered 
itself  with  a  very  thick  white  mist,  which 
crept  low  over  the  water,  so  that,  standing 
up,  I  could  no  longer  see  either  the  stream 
or  my  feet  or  my  boat,  and  saw  only  the 


120  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

tips  of  the  reeds,  and  then,  beyond  them,  the 
plain,  all  pale  in  the  moonlight,  and  with 
great  black  stains  which  rose  towards  heav- 
en, and  which  were  made  by  clumps  of  Ital- 
ian poplars.  I  was  as  though  wrapped  to 
the  waist  in  a  cotton  sheet  of  a  strange 
whiteness,  and  there  began  to  come  to  me 
weird  imaginations.  I  imagined  that  some 
one  was  trying  to  climb  into  my  boat,  since 
I  could  no  longer  see  it,  and  that  the  river, 
hidden  by  this  opaque  mist,  must  be  full  of 
strange  creatures  swimming  about  me.  I 
experienced  a  horrible  uneasiness,  I  had  a 
tightening  at  the  temples,  my  heart  beat  to 
suffocation ;  and,  losing  my  head,  I  thought 
of  escaping  by  swimming;  then  in  an  instant 
the  very  idea  made  me  shiver  with  fright. 
I  saw  myself  lost,  drifting  hither  and  thither 
in  this  impenetrable  mist,  struggling  among 
the  long  grass  and  the  reeds  which  I  should 
not  be  able  to  avoid,  with  a  rattle  in  my 
throat  from  fear,  not  seeing  the  shore,  not 
rinding  my  boat.  And  it  seemed  to  me  as 
though  I  felt  myself  being  drawn  by  the  feet 
down  to  the  bottom  of  this  black  water. 
"  In  fact,  since  I  should  have  had  to  swim 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  121 

up  stream  at  least  five  hundred  metres  be- 
fore finding  a  point  clear  of  rushes  and  reeds, 
where  I  could  get  a  footing,  there  were  nine 
chances  to  one  that,  however  good  a  swim- 
mer I  might  be,  I  should  lose  my  bearings 
in  the  fog  and  drown. 

"I  tried  to  reason  with  myself.  I  realized 
that  my  will  was  firmly  enough  resolved 
against  fear;  but  there  was  something  in  me 
beside  my  will,  and  it  was  this  which  felt 
afraid.  I  asked  myself  what  it  could  be  that 
I  dreaded;  that  part  of  me  which  was  cou- 
rageous railed  at  that  part  of  me  which  was 
cowardly;  and  I  never  had  comprehended 
so  well  before  the  opposition  between  those 
two  beings  which  exist  within  us,  the  one 
willing,  the  other  resisting,  and  each  in  turn 
getting  the  mastery. 

"  This  stupid  and  inexplicable  fear  grew 
until  it  became  terror.  I  remained  motion- 
less, my  eyes  wide  open,  with  a  strained  and 
expectant  ear.  Expecting  —  what?  I  did 
not  know  save  that  it  would  be  something 
terrible.  I  believe  that  if  a  fish,  as  often 
happens,  had  taken  it  into  its  head  to  jump 
out  of  the  water,  it  would  have  needed  only 


122  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

that  to  make  me  fall  stark  on  my  back  into 
a  faint. 

"And  yet,  finally,  by  a  violent  effort,  I 
very  nearly  recovered  the  reason  which  had 
been  escaping  me.  I  again  took  my  brandy- 
flask,  and  out  of  it  I  drank  great  draughts. 
Then  an  idea  struck  me,  and  I  began  to 
shout  with  all  my  might,  turning  in  succes- 
sion towards  all  four  quarters  of  the  horizon. 
When  my  throat  was  completely  paralyzed, 
I  listened.  A  dog  howled,  a  long  way  off. 

"Again  I  drank;  and  I  lay  down  on  my 
back  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  So  I  re- 
mained for  one  hour,  perhaps  for  two,  sleep- 
less, my  eyes  wide-open,  with  nightmares  all 
about  me.  I  did  not  dare  to  sit  up,  and  yet 
I  had  a  wild  desire  to  do  so ;  I  kept  putting 
it  off  from  minute  to  minute.  I  would  say 
to  myself :  "  Come !  get  up !"  and  I  was 
afraid  to  make  a  movement.  At  last  I  raised 
myself  with  infinite  precaution,  as  if  life  de- 
pended on  my  making  not  the  slightest  sound, 
and  I  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  boat. 

"I  was  dazzled  by  the  most  marvellous,  the 
most  astonishing  spectacle  that  it  can  be 
possible  to  see.  It  was  one  of  those  phan- 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  123 

tasmagoria  from  fairy-land ;  it  was  one  of 
those  visions  described  by  travellers  returned 
out  of  far  countries,  and  which  we  hear  with- 
out believing. 

"The  mist,  which  two  hours  before  was 
floating  over  the  water,  had  gradually  with- 
drawn and  piled  itself  upon  the  banks. 
Leaving  the  river  absolutely  clear,  it  had 
formed,  along  each  shore,  long  low  hills  about 
six  or  seven  metres  high,  which  glittered  un- 
der the  moon  with  the  brilliancy  of  snow, 
so  that  one  saw  nothing  except  this  river  of 
fire  coming  down  these  two  white  mountains ; 
and  there,  high  above  my  head,  a  great,  lu- 
minous moon,  full  and  large,  displayed  her- 
self upon  a  blue  and  milky  sky. 

"All  the  denizens  of  the  water  had  awaked ; 
the  bull-frogs  croaked  furiously,  while,  from 
instant  to  instant,  now  on  my  right,  now  on 
my  left,  I  heard  those  short,  mournful,  monot- 
onous notes  which  the  brassy  voices  of  the 
marsh-frogs  give  forth  to  the  stars.  Strange- 
ly enough,  1  was  no  longer  afraid ;  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  such  an  extraordinary  landscape 
that  the  most  curious  things  could  not  have 
astonished  me. 


124  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  How  long  the  sight  lasted  I  do  not 
know,  because  at  last  I  had  grown  drowsy. 
When  I  again  opened  my  eyes  the  moon 
had  set,  the  heaven  was  full  of  clouds. 
The  water  lashed  mournfully,  the  wind 
whispered,  it  grew  cold,  the  darkness  was 
profound. 

"  I  drank  all  the  brandy  I  had  left ;  then 
I  listened  shiveringly  to  the  rustling  of  the 
reeds  and  to  the  sinister  noise  of  the  river. 
I  tried  to  see,  but  I  could  not  make  out  the 
boat  nor  even  my  own  hands,  though  I 
raised  them  close  to  my  eyes. 

"  However,  little  by  little  the  density  of  the 
blackness  diminished.  Suddenly  I  thought 
I  felt  a  shadow  slipping  along  near  by  me ; 
I  uttered  a  cry;  a  voice  replied — it  was  a 
fisherman.  I  hailed  him;  he  approached, 
and  I  told  him  of  my  mishap.  He  pulled 
his  boat  alongside,  and  both  together  we 
heaved  at  the  chain.  The  anchor  did  not 
budge.  The  day  came  on  —  sombre,  gray, 
rainy,  cold — one  of  those  days  which  bring 
always  a  sorrow  and  a  misfortune.  I  made 
out  another  craft;  we  hailed  it.  The  man 
aboard  of  it  joined  his  efforts  to  ours,  then, 


GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT.  125 

little  by  little,  the  anchor  yielded.  It  came 
up,  but  slowly,  slowly,  and  weighted  down 
by  something  very  heavy.  At  last  we  per- 
ceived a  black  mass,  and  we  pulled  it  along- 
side. 

"  It  was  the  corpse  of  an  old  woman  with 
a  great  stone  round  her  neck." 


MAESE   PEREZ,  THE   ORGANIST. 

BY 

GUSTAVO  ADOLFO  BECQLJER. 


MAESE   PEREZ,  THE   ORGANIST. 


I. 

"Do  you  see  that  man  with  the  scarlet 
cloak  and  the  white  plume  in  his  hat  and 
the  gold-embroidered  vest  ?  I  mean  the  one 
just  getting  out  of  his  litter  and  going  to 
greet  that  lady — the  one  coming  along  after 
those  four  pages  who  are  carrying  torches  ? 
Well,  that  is  the  Marquis  of  Mascoso,  lover 
of  the  widow,  the  Countess  of  Villapineda. 
They  say  that  before  he  began  paying  court 
to  her  he  had  sought  the  hand  of  a  very 
wealthy  man's  daughter,  but  the  girl's  fa- 
ther, who  they  say  is  a  trifle  close-fisted — 
but  hush !  Speaking  of  the  devil — do  you 
see  that  man  closely  wrapped  in  his  cloak 
9 


130  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

coming  on  foot  under  the  arch  of  San  Fe- 
lipe ?  Well,  he  is  the  father  in  question. 
Everybody  in  Seville  knows  him  on  account 
of  his  immense  fortune. 

"Look — look  at  that  group  of  stately 
men!  They  are  the  twenty- four  knights. 
Aha !  there's  that  Fleming,  too.  They  say 
that  the  gentlemen  of  the  green  cross  have 
not  challenged  him  yet,  thanks  to  his  influ- 
ence with  the  great  ones  at  Madrid.  All  he 
comes  to  church  for  is  to  hear  the  music. 

"Alas!  neighbor,  that  looks  bad.  I  fear 
there's  going  to  be  a  scuffle.  I  shall  take 
refuge  in  the  church,  for,  according  to  my 
guess,  there  will  be  more  blows  than  Pater- 
nosters. Look,  look !  the  Duke  of  Alcala's 
people  are  coming  round  the  corner  of  Saint 
Peter's  Square,  and  I  think  I  see  the  Duke 
of  Medinasidonia's  men  in  Duenas  Alley. 
Didn't  I  tell  you?  There— there!  The 
blows  are  beginning.  Neighbor,  neighbor, 
this  way  before  they  close  the  doors  ! 

"But  what's  that?  They've  left  off. 
What's  that  light  ?  Torches  !  a  litter !  It's 
the  bishop  himself !  God  preserve  him  in 
his  office  as  many  centuries  as  I  desire  to 


GUSTAVO    ADOLFO    BECQUER.  13! 

live  myself!  If  it  were  not  for  him,  half 
Seville  would  have  been  burned  up  by  this 
time  with  these  quarrels  of  the  dukes.  Look 
at  them,  look  at  them,  the  hypocrites,  how 
they  both  press  forward  to  kiss  the  bishop's 
ring! 

"  But  come,  neighbor  —  come  into  the 
church  before  it  is  packed  full.  Some 
nights  like  this  it  is  so  crowded  that  you 
could  not  get  in  if  you  were  no  larger  than 
a  grain  of  wheat.  The  nuns  have  a  prize 
in  their  organist.  Other  sisterhoods  have 
made  Maese  PeVez  magnificent  offers;  noth- 
ing strange  about  that,  though,  for  the  very 
archbishop  has  offered  him  mountains  of 
gold  if  he  would  go  to  the  cathedral.  But 
he  would  not  listen  to  them.  He  would 
sooner  die  than  give  up  his  beloved  organ. 
You  don't  know  Maese  Pe'rez  ?  Oh,  I  for- 
got you  had  just  come  to  the  neighborhood. 
Well,  he  is  a  holy  man ;  poor,  to  be  sure, 
but  as  charitable  as  any  man  that  ever  lived. 
With  no  relative  but  a  daughter,  and  no 
friend  but  his  organ,  he  spends  all  his  time 
in  caring  for  the  one  and  repairing  the  other. 
The  organ  is  an  old  affair,  you  must  know ; 


132  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

but  that  makes  no  difference  to  him.  He 
handles  it  so  that  its  tone  is  a  wonder. 
How  he  does  know  it!  and  all  by  touch, 
too,  for  did  I  tell  you  that  the  poor  man 
was  born  blind? 

"  Humble,  too,  as  the  very  stones.  He  al- 
ways says  that  he  is  only  a  poor  convent  or- 
ganist, when  the  fact  is  he  could  give  lessons 
in  sol  fa  to  the  very  chapel  master  of  the 
primate.  You  see,  he  began  before  he  had 
teeth.  His  father  had  the  same  position 
before  him,  and  as  the  boy  showed  such  tal- 
ent, it  was  very  natural  that  he  should  suc- 
ceed his  father  when  the  latter  died.  And 
what  a  touch  he  has,  God  bless  him !  He 
always  plays  well,  always ;  but  on  a  night 
like  this  he  is  wonderful.  He  has  the  great- 
est devotion  to  this  Christmas  Eve  mass,  and 
when  the  host  is  elevated,  precisely  at  twelve 
o'clock,  which  is  the  time  that  Our  Lord 
came  into  the  world,  his  organ  sounds  like 
the  voices  of  angels. 

"But  why  need  I  try  to  tell  you  about 
what  you  are  going  to  hear  to-night  ?  It  is 
enough  for  you  to  see  that  all  the  elegance 
of  Seville,  the  very  archbishop  included, 


GUSTAVO    ADOLFO    BECQUER.  133 

comes  to  a  humble  convent  to  listen  to  him. 
And  it  is  not  only  the  learned  people  who 
can  understand  his  skill  that  come ;  the  com- 
mon people,  too,  swarm  to  the  church,  and 
are  as  still  as  the  dead  when  Maese  Pe'rez 
puts  his  hands  to  the  organ.  And  when  the 
host  is  elevated,  when  the  host  is  elevated, 
then  you  can't  hear  a  fly.  Great  tears  fall 
from  every  eye,  and  when  the  music  is  over 
a  long-drawn  sigh  is  heard,  showing  how  the 
people  have  been  holding  their  breath  all 
through. 

"  But  come,  come,  the  bells  have  stopped 
ringing,  and  the  mass  is  going  to  begin. 
Hurry  in.  This  is  Christmas  Eve  for  every- 
body, but  for  no  one  is  it  a  greater  occasion 
than  for  us." 

So  saying,  the  good  woman  who  had  been 
acting  as  cicerone  for  her  neighbor  pressed 
through  the  portico  of  the  Convent  of  Santa 
Ines,  and  elbowing  this  one  and  pushing  the 
other,  succeeded  in  getting  inside  the  church, 
forcing  her  way  through  the  multitude  that 
was  crowding  about  the  door. 


134  MODERN   GHOSTS. 


II. 

The  church  was  profusely  lighted.  The 
flood  of  light  which  fell  from  the  altars 
glanced  from  the  rich  jewels  of  the  great 
ladies,  who,  kneeling  upon  velvet  cushions 
placed  before  them  by  pages,  and  taking 
their  prayer-books  from  the  hands  of  female 
attendants,  formed  a  brilliant  circle  around 
the  chancel  lattice.  Standing  next  that  lat- 
tice, wrapped  in  their  richly  colored  and  em- 
broidered cloaks,  letting  their  green  and  red 
orders  be  seen  with  studied  carelessness, 
holding  in  one  hand  their  hats,  the  plumes 
sweeping  the  floor,  and  letting  the  other  rest 
upon  the  polished  hilts  of  rapiers  or  the  jew- 
elled handles  of  daggers,  the  twenty -four 
knights,  and  a  large  part  of  the  highest  no- 
bility of  Seville,  seemed  to  be  forming  a  wall 
for  the  purpose  of  keeping  their  wives  and 
daughters  from  contact  with  the  populace. 
The  latter,  swaying  back  and  forth  at  the 
rear  of  the  nave,  with  a  noise  like  that  of  a 
rising  surf,  broke  out  into  joyous  acclama- 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO    BECQUER.  135 

tions  as  the  archbishop  was  seen  to  come 
in.  That  dignitary  seated  himself  near  the 
high  altar  under  a  scarlet  canopy,  surround- 
ed by  his  attendants,  and  three  times  bless- 
ed the  people. 

It  was  time  for  the  mass  to  begin. 

Nevertheless,  several  minutes  passed  be- 
fore the  celebrant  appeared.  The  multitude 
commenced  to  murmur  impatiently;  the 
knights  exchanged  words  with  each  other  in 
a  low  tone ;  and  the  archbishop  sent  one  of 
his  attendants  to  the  sacristan  to  inquire 
why  the  ceremony  did  not  begin. 

"  Maese  Perez  has  fallen  sick,  very  sick, 
and  it  will  be  impossible  for  him  to  come  to 
the  midnight  mass." 

This  was  the  word  brought  back  by  the 
attendant. 

The  news  ran  instantly  through  the  crowd. 
The  disturbance  caused  by  it  was  so  great 
that  the  chief  judge  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
the  officers  came  into  the  church,  to  enforce 
silence. 

Just  then  a  man  of  unpleasant  face,  thin, 
bony,  and  cross-eyed  too,  pushed  up  to  the 
place  where  the  archbishop  was  sitting. 


136  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  Maese  Pe'rez  is  sick,"  he  said ;  "  the  cere- 
mony cannot  begin.  If  you  see  fit,  I  will 
play  the  organ  in  his  absence.  Maese  Pe'rez 
is  not  the  best  organist  in  the  world,  nor 
need  this  instrument  be  left  unused  after 
his  death  for  lack  of  any  one  able  to  play  it." 

The  archbishop  nodded  his  head  in  as- 
sent, although  some  of  the  faithful,  who  had 
already  recognized  in  that  strange  person  an 
envious  rival  of  the  organist  of  Santa  Inds, 
were  breaking  out  in  cries  of  displeasure. 
Suddenly  a  surprising  noise  was  heard  in 
the  portico. 

"  Maese  Pe'rez  is  here  !  Maese  Perez  is 
here  1" 

At  this  shout,  coming  from  those  jammed 
in  by  the  door,  every  one  looked  around. 

Maese  Perez,  pale  and  feeble,  was  in  fact 
entering  the  church,  brought  in  a  chair  which 
all  were  quarrelling  for  the  honor  of  carry- 
ing upon  their  shoulders. 

The  commands  of  the  physicians,  the  tears 
of  his  daughter — nothing  had  been  able  to 
keep  him  in  bed. 

"  No,"  he  had  said ;  "  this  is  the  last  one, 
I  know  it.  I  know  it,  and  I  do  not  want 


GUSTAVO    ADOLFO    BECQUER.  137 

to  die  without  visiting  my  organ  again,  this 
night  above  all,  this  Christmas  Eve.  Come, 
I  desire  it,  I  order  it ;  come,  to  the  church !" 

His  desire  had  been  gratified.  The  peo- 
ple carried  him  in  their  arms  to  the  organ- 
loft.  The  mass  began. 

Twelve  struck  on  the  cathedral  clock. 

The  introit  came,  then  the  Gospel,  then 
the  offertory,  and  the  moment  arrived  when 
the  priest,  after  consecrating  the  sacred  wa- 
fer, took  it  in  his  hands  and  began  to  elevate 
it.  A  cloud  of  incense  filled  the  church  in 
bluish  undulations.  The  little  bells  rang 
out  in  vibrating  peals,  and  Maese  Perez 
placed  his  aged  fingers  upon  the  organ 
keys. 

The  multitudinous  voices  of  the  metal 
tubes  gave  forth  a  prolonged  and  majestic 
chord,  which  died  away  little  by  little,  as  if 
a  gentle  breeze  had  borne  away  its  last 
echoes. 

To  this  opening  burst,  which  seemed  like 
a  voice  lifted  up  to  heaven  from  earth,  re- 
sponded a  sweet  and  distant  note,  which 
went  on  swelling  and  swelling  in  volume 
until  it  became  a  torrent  of  overpowering 


138  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

harmony.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  angels, 
traversing  space,  and  reaching  the  world. 

Then  distant  hymns  began  to  be  heard, 
intoned  by  the  hierarchies  of  seraphim;  a 
thousand  hymns  at  once,  mingling  to  form 
a  single  one,  though  this  one  was  only  an 
accompaniment  to  a  strange  melody  which 
seemed  to  float  above  that  ocean  of  mysteri- 
ous echoes,  as  a  strip  of  fog  above  the  waves 
of  the  sea. 

One  song  after  another  died  away.  The 
movement  grew  simpler.  Now  only  two 
voices  were  heard,  whose  echoes  blended. 
Then  but  one  remained,  and  alone  sustained 
a  note  as  brilliant  as  a  thread  of  light.  The 
priest  bowed  his  face,  and  above  his  gray 
head  appeared  the  host.  At  that  moment 
the  note  which  Maese  Perez  was  holding 
began  to  swell,  and  swell,  and  an  explosion 
of  unspeakable  joy  filled  the  church. 

From  each  of  the  notes  forming  that  mag- 
nificent chord,  a  theme  was  developed ;  and 
some  near,  others  far  away,  these  brilliant, 
those  muffled,  one  would  have  said  that  the 
waters  and  the  birds,  the  breezes  and  the 
forests,  men  and  angels,  earth  and  heaven, 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO   BECQUER.  139 

were  singing,  each  in  its  own  language,  a 
hymn  in  praise  of  the  Saviour's  birth. 

The  people  listened,  amazed  and  breath- 
less. The  officiating  priest  felt  his  hands 
trembling ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  seen 
the  heavens  opened  and  the  host  transfig- 
ured. 

The  organ  kept  on,  but  its  voice  sank 
away  gradually,  like  a  tone  going  from  echo 
to  echo,  and  dying  as  it  goes.  Suddenly  a 
cry  was  heard  in  the  organ-loft — a  piercing, 
shrill  cry,  the  cry  of  a  woman. 

The  organ  gave  a  strange,  discordant 
sound,  like  a  sob,  and  then  was  silent. 

The  multitude  flocked  to  the  stairs  lead- 
ing up  to  the  organ-loft,  towards  which  the 
anxious  gaze  of  the  faithful  was  turned. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?"  one  asked  the  other,  and  no  one  knew 
what  to  reply.  The  confusion  increased. 
The  excitement  threatened  to  disturb  the 
good  order  and  decorum  fitting  within  a 
church. 

"  What  was  that  ?"  asked  the  great  ladies 
of  the  chief  judge.  He  had  been  one  of  the 
first  to  ascend  to  the  organ-loft.  Now,  pale 


140  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

and  displaying  signs  of  deep  grief,  he  was 
going  to  the  archbishop,  who  was  anxious, 
like  everybody  else,  to  know  the  cause  of 
the  disturbance. 

"What's  the  matter?" 
"  Maese  PeVez  has  just  expired." 
In  fact,  when  the  first  of  the  faithful  rush- 
ed up  the  stair-way,  and  reached  the  organ- 
loft,  they  saw  the  poor  organist  fallen  face 
down  upon  the  keys  of  his  old  instrument, 
which  was  still  vibrating,  while  his  daughter, 
kneeling  at  his  feet,  was  vainly  calling  to 
him  with  tears  and  sobs. 


III. 

"  Good-evening,  my  dear  Dona  Baltasara. 
Are  you  also  going  to-night  to  the  Christmas 
Eve  mass  ?  For  my  part,  I  was  intending 
to  go  to  the  parish  church  to  hear  it,  but 
what  has  happened — where  is  Vicente  going, 
do  you  ask  ?  Why,  where  the  crowd  goes. 
And,  I  must  say,  to  tell  the  truth,  that  ever 
since  Maese  Perez  died  it  seems  as  if  a 
marble  slab  was  on  my  heart  whenever  I  go 
to  Santa  Ines.  Poor  dear  man !  He  was 


GUSTAVO    ADOLFO    BECQUER.  141 

a  saint !  I  know  one  thing — I  keep  a  piece 
of  his  cloak  as  a  relic,  and  he  deserves  it. 
I  solemnly  believe  that  if  the  archbishop 
would  stir  in  the  matter,  our  grandchildren 
would  see  his  image  among  the  saints  on 
the  altars.  But,  of  course,  he  won't  do  that. 
The  dead  and  absent  have  no  friends,  as 
they  say.  It's  all  the  latest  thing,  nowa- 
days ;  you  understand  me.  What  ?  You  do 
not  know  what  has  happened  ?  Well,  it's 
true  you  are  not  exactly  in  our  situation. 
From  our  house  to  the  church,  and  from  the 
church  to  our  house — a  word  here  and  an- 
other one  there — on  the  wing — without  any 
curiosity  whatever — I  easily  find  out  all  the 
news. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  a  settled  thing  that  the 
organist  of  San  Roman — that  squint-eye,  who 
is  always  slandering  other  organists — that 
great  blunderer,  who  seems  more  like  a 
butcher  than  a  master  of  sol  fa — is  going  to 
play  this  Christmas  Eve  in  Maese  Perez's 
old  place.  Of  course,  you  know,  for  every- 
body knows  it,  and  it  is  a  public  matter  in 
all  Seville,  that  no  one  dared  to  try  it.  His 
daughter  herself  would  not,  though  she  is  a 


142  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

professor  of  music  herself.  After  her  fa- 
ther's death  she  went  into  the  convent  as  a 
novice.  Her  unwillingness  to  play  was  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world ;  accustomed 
as  she  was  to  those  marvellous  performances, 
any  other  playing  must  have  appeared  bad 
to  her,  not  to  speak  of  her  desire  to  avoid 
comparisons.  But  when  the  sisterhood  had 
already  decided  that  in  honor  of  the  dead 
organist,  and  as  a  token  of  respect  to  his 
memory,  the  organ  should  not  be  played  to- 
night, here  comes  this  fellow  along,  and  says 
that  he  is  ready  to  play  it. 

"  Ignorance  is  the  boldest  of  all  things. 
It  is  true,  the  fault  is  not  his,  so  much  as 
theirs  who  have  consented  to  this  profana- 
tion, but  that  is  the  way  of  the  world.  But, 
I  say,  there's  no  small  bit  of  people  coming. 
Any  one  would  say  that  nothing  had  changed 
since  last  year.  The  same  distinguished 
persons,  the  same  elegant  costumes,  the 
crowding  at  the  door,  the  same  excitement 
in  the  portico,  the  same  throng  in  the  church. 
Alas !  if  the  dead  man  were  to  rise,  he  would 
feel  like  dying  again  to  hear  his  organ  played 
by  inferior  hands.  The  fact  is,  if  what  the. 


GUSTAVO    ADOLFO    BECQUER.  143 

people  of  the  neighborhood  tell  me  is  true, 
they  are  getting  a  fine  reception  ready  for 
the  intruder.  When  the  time  comes  for 
him  to  touch  the  keys,  there  is  going  to  break 
out  a  racket  made  by  timbrels,  drums,  and 
horse-fiddles,  so  that  you  can't  hear  anything 
else.  But  hush  !  there's  the  hero  of  the  oc- 
casion going  into  the  church.  Goodness ! 
what  gaudy  clothes,  what  a  neck-cloth,  what 
a  high  and  mighty  air  !  Come,  hurry  up,  the 
archbishop  came  only  a  moment  ago,  and 
the  mass  is  going  to  begin.  Come  on;  I 
guess  this  night  will  give  us  something  to 
talk  about  for  many  a  day !" 

Saying  this,  the  worthy  woman,  whom  the 
reader  recognizes  by  her  abrupt  talkative- 
ness, went  into  the  Church  of  Santa  Ines, 
opening  for  herself  a  path,  in  her  usual 
way,  by  shoving  and  elbowing  through  the 
crowd. 

The  ceremony  had  already  begun.  The 
church  was  as  brilliant  as  the  year  before. 

The  new  organist,  after  passing  between 
the  rows  of  the  faithful  in  the  nave,  and 
going  to  kiss  the  archbishop's  ring,  had  gone 
up  to  the  organ-loft,  where  he  was  trying 


144  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

one  stop  of  the  organ  after  another,  with  an 
affected  and  ridiculous  gravity. 

A  low,  confused  noise  was  heard  coming 
from  the  common  people  clustered  at  the 
rear  of  the  church,  a  sure  augury  of  the  com- 
ing storm,  which  would  not  be  long  in  break- 
ing. 

"  He  is  a  mere  clown,"  said  some,  "  who 
does  not  know  how  to  do  anything,  not  even 
look  straight." 

"  He  is  an  ignoramus,"  said  others,  "  who, 
after  having  made  a  perfect  rattle  out  of  the 
organ  in  his  own  church,  comes  here  to  pro- 
fane Maese  Perez's." 

And  while  one  was  taking  off  his  cloak  so 
as  to  be  ready  to  beat  his  drum  to  good  ad- 
vantage, and  another  was  testing  his  timbrel, 
and  all  were  more  and  more  buzzing  out  in 
talk,  only  here  and  there  could  one  be  found 
to  defend  even  feebly  that  curious  person, 
whose  proud  and  pedantic  bearing  so  strong- 
ly contrasted  with  the  modest  appearance 
and  kind  affability  of  Maese  Pe'rez. 

At  last  the  looked -for  moment  arrived, 
when  the  priest,  after  bowing  low  and  mur- 
muring the  sacred  words,  took  the  host  in 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO    BECQUER.  145 

his  hands.  The  bells  gave  forth  a  peal,  like 
a  rain  of  crystal  notes ;  the  transparent  waves 
of  incense  rose,  and  the  organ  sounded. 

But  its  first  chord  was  drowned  by  a  hor- 
rible clamor  which  filled  the  whole  church. 
Bagpipes,  horns,  timbrels,  drums,  every  in- 
strument known  to  the  populace,  lifted  up 
their  discordant  voices  all  at  once. 

The  confusion  and  clangor  lasted  but  a 
few  seconds.  As  the  noises  began,  so  they 
ended,  all  together. 

The  second  chord,  full,  bold,  magnificent, 
sustained  itself,  pouring  from  the  organ's 
metal  tubes  like  a  cascade  of  inexhaustible 
and  sonorous  harmony. 

Celestial  songs  like  those  that  caress  the 
ear  in  moments  of  ecstasy;  songs  which  the 
soul  perceives,  but  which  the  lip  cannot  re- 
peat ;  single  notes  of  a  distant  melody,  which 
sound  at  intervals,  borne  on  the  breeze ;  the 
rustle  of  leaves  kissing  each  other  on  the 
trees  with  a  murmur  like  rain ;  trills  of  larks 
which  rise  with  quivering  songs  from  among 
the  flowers  like  a  flight  of  arrows  to  the  sky ; 
nameless  sounds,  overwhelming  as  the  roar 
of  a  tempest ;  fluttering  hymns,  which  seemed 
10 


146  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

to  be  mounting  to  the  throne  of  the  Lord 
like  a  mixture  of  light  and  sound — all  were 
expressed  by  the  organ's  hundred  voices, 
with  more  vigor,  more  subtle  poetry,  more 
weird  coloring,  than  had  ever  been  known 
before. 


When  the  organist  came  down  from  the 
loft  the  crowd  which  pressed  up  to  the  stair- 
way was  so  great,  and  their  eagerness  to  see 
and  greet  him  so  intense,  that  the  chief 
judge,  fearing,  and  not  without  reason,  that  he 
would  be  suffocated  among  them  all,  ordered 
some  of  the  officers  to  open  a  path  for  the 
organist,  with  their  staves  of  office,  so  that 
he  could  reach  the  high  altar,  where  the  prel- 
ate was  waiting  for  him. 

"You  perceive,"  said  the  archbishop,  "that 
I  have  come  all  the  way  from  my  palace  to 
hear  you.  Now,  are  you  going  to  be  as  cruel 
as  Maese  Pe'rez  ?  He  would  never  save  me 
the  journey,  by  going  to  play  the  Christmas 
Eve  mass  in  the  cathedral." 

"  Next  year,"  replied  the  organist,"  I  prom- 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO    BECQUER.  147 

ise  to  give  you  the  pleasure;  since,  for  all 
the  gold  in  the  world,  I  would  never  play 
this  organ  again." 

"  But  why  not  ?"  interrupted  the  prelate. 

"  Because,"  returned  the  organist,  endeav- 
oring to  repress  the  agitation  which  revealed 
itself  in  the  pallor  of  his  face — "  because  it 
is  so  old  and  poor ;  one  cannot  express  one's 
self  on  it  satisfactorily." 

The  archbishop  withdrew,  followed  by  his 
attendants.  One  after  another  the  litters  of 
the  great  folk  disappeared  in  the  windings 
of  the  neighboring  streets.  The  group  in 
the  portico  scattered.  The  sexton  was  lock- 
ing up  the  doors,  when  two  women  were  per- 
ceived, who  had  stopped  to  cross  themselves 
and  mutter  a  prayer,  and  who  were  now  go- 
ing on  their  way  into  Duenas  Alley. 

"  What  would  you  have,  my  dear  Dona 
Baltasara?"  one  was  saying.  "That's  the 
way  I  am.  Every  crazy  person  with  his 
whim.  The  barefooted  Capuchins  might  as- 
sure me  that  it  was  so,  and  I  would  not  be- 
lieve it.  That  man  never  played  what  we 
have  heard.  Why,  I  have  heard  him  a  thou- 
sand times  in  San  Bartolome,  his  parish 


148  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

church;  the  priest  had  to  send  him  away 
he  was  so  poor  a  player.  You  felt  like  plug- 
ging your  ears  with  cotton.  Why,  all  you 
need  is  to  look  at  his  face,  and  that  is  the 
mirror  of  the  soul,  they  say.  I  remember, 
as  if  I  was  seeing  him  now,  poor  man  —  I 
remember  Maese  Perez's  face,  nights  like 
this,  when  he  came  down  from  the  organ- 
loft,  after  having  entranced  the  audience 
with  his  splendors.  What  a  gracious  smile  ! 
What  a  happy  glow  on  his  face  !  Old  as  he 
was,  he  seemed  like  an  angel.  But  this 
creature  came  plunging  down  as  if  a  dog 
were  barking  at  him  on  the  landing,  and  all 
the  color  of  a  dead  man,  while  his — come, 
dear  Dona  Baltasara,  believe  me,  and  believe 
what  I  say:  there  is  some  great  mystery 
about  this." 

Thus  conversing,  the  two  women  turned 
the  corner  of  the  alley,  and  disappeared. 
There  is  no  need  of  saying  who  one  of  them 
was. 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO   BECQUER.  149 


IV. 

Another  year  had  gone  by.  The  abbess 
of  the  Convent  of  Santa  In6s  and  Maese 
Perez's  daughter  were  talking  in  a  low  voice, 
half  hidden  in  the  shadows  of  the  church 
choir.  The  penetrating  voice  of  the  bell 
was  summoning  the  faithful.  A  very  few 
people  were  passing  through  the  portico, 
silent  and  deserted,  this  year,  and  after  tak- 
ing holy  water  at  the  door,  were  choosing 
seats  in  a  corner  of  the  nave,  where  a  hand- 
ful of  residents  of  the  neighborhood  were 
quietly  waiting  for  the  Christmas  Eve  mass 
to  begin. 

"There,  you  see,"  the  mother  superior 
was  sayin*;,  "your  fear  is  entirely  childish; 
there  is  ny  one  in  the  church.  All  Seville 
is  trooping  to  the  cathedral  to-night.  Play 
the  organ,  and  do  it  without  any  distrust 
whatever.  We  are  only  a  sisterhood  here. 
But  why  don't  you  speak  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 


150  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  tone 
of  the  deepest  agitation. 

"  Afraid  !     Of  what  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know — something  supernatu- 
ral. Listen  to  what  happened  last  night.  I 
had  heard  you  say  that  you  were  anxious 
for  me  to  play  the  organ  for  the  mass.  I 
was  proud  of  the  honor,  and  I  thought  I 
would  arrange  the  stops  and  get  the  organ 
in  good  tune  so  as  to  give  you  a  surprise 
to-day.  Alone  I  went  into  the  choir  and 
opened  the  door  leading  to  the  organ-loft. 
The  cathedral  clock  was  striking  just  then, 
I  do  not  know  what  hour ;  but  the  strokes 
of  the  bell  were  very  mournful,  and  they 
were  very  numerous — going  on  sounding 
for  a  century,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  while  I 
stood  as  if  nailed  to  the  threshold. 

"  The  church  was  empty  and  dark.  Far 
away  there  gleamed  a  feeble  light,  like  a 
faint  star  in  the  sky ;  it  was  the  lamp  burn- 
ing on  the  high  altar.  By  its  flickering 
light,  which  only  helped  to  make  the  deep 
horror  of  the  shadows  the  more  intense,  I 
saw  —  I  saw  —  mother,  do  not  disbelieve  it 
— a  man.  In  perfect  silence,  and  with  his 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO    BECQUER.  151 

back  turned  towards  me,  he  was  running 
over  the  organ -keys  with  one  hand  while 
managing  the  stops  with  the  other.  And 
the  organ  sounded,  but  in  an  indescribable 
manner.  It  seemed  as  if  each  note  were  a 
sob  smothered  in  the  metal  tube,  which  vi- 
brated under  the  pressure  of  the  air  com- 
pressed within  it,  and  gave  forth  a  low* 
almost  imperceptible  tone,  yet  exact  and 
true. 

"The  cathedral  clock  kept  on  striking, 
and  that  man  kept  on  running  over  \he 
keys.  I  could  hear  his  very  breathing. 

"  Fright  had  frozen  the  blood  in  my  veins. 
My  body  was  as  cold  as  ice,  except  my  head, 
and  that  was  burning.  I  tried  to  cry  out, 
but  I  could  not.  That  man  turned  his  face 
and  looked  at  me — no,  he  did  not  look  at 
me,  for  he  was  blind.  It  was  my  father !" 

"  Nonsense,  sister !  Banish  these  fancies 
with  which  the  adversary  endeavors  to  over- 
turn weak  imaginations.  Address  a  Pater- 
noster and  an  Ave  Maria  to  the  archangel, 
Saint  Michael,  the  captain  of  the  celestial 
hosts,  that  he  may  aid  you  in  opposing  evil 
spirits.  Wear  on  your  neck  a  scapulary 


152  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

which  has  been  pressed  to  the  relics  of 
Saint  Pacomio,  the  counsellor  against  temp- 
tations, and  go,  go  quickly,  and  sit  at  the 
organ.  The  mass  is  going  to  begin,  and  the 
faithful  are  growing  impatient.  Your  father 
is  in  heaven,  and  thence,  instead  of  giving 
you  a  fright,  will  descend  to  inspire  his 
daughter  in  the  solemn  service." 

The  prioress  went  to  occupy  her  seat  in 
the  choir  in  the  midst  of  the  sisterhood. 
Maese  Perez's  daughter  opened  the  door  of 
the  organ-loft  with  trembling  hand,  sat  down 
at  the  organ,  and  the  mass  began. 

The  mass  began,  and  went  on  without 
anything  unusual  happening  until  the  time 
of  consecration  came.  Then  the  organ 
sounded.  At  the  same  time  came  a  scream 
from  Maese  Perez's  daughter. 

The  mother  superior,  the  nuns,  and  some 
of  the  faithful  rushed  up  to  the  organ-loft. 

"  Look  at  him  ! — look  at  him  !"  cried  the 
girl,  fixing  her  eyes,  starting  from  their 
sockets,  upon  the  seat,  from  which  she  had 
risen  in  terror.  She  was  clinging  with  con- 
vulsed hands  to  the  railing  of  the  organ-loft. 

Everybody  looked  intently   at  the   spot 


GUSTAVO   ADOLFO   BECQUER.  153 

to  which  she  directed  her  gaze.  No  one 
was  at  the  organ,  yet  it  went  on  sounding — 
sounding  like  the  songs  of  the  archangels  in 
their  bursts  of  mystic  ecstasy. 


"  Didn't  I  tell  you  a  thousand  times,  if  I 
did  once,  dear  Dona  Baltasara — didn't  I  tell 
you?  There  is  some  great  mystery  about 
this.  What !  didn't  you  go  last  night  to  the 
Christmas  Eve  mass  ?  Well,  you  must  know, 
anyhow,  what  happened.  Nothing  else  is 
talked  about  in  the  whole  city.  The  arch- 
bishop is  furious,  and  no  wonder.  Not  to 
have  gone  to  Santa  Ines,  not  to  have  been 
present  at  the  miracle — and  all  to  hear  a 
wretched  clatter!  That's  all  the  inspired 
organist  of  San  Bartolome'  made  in  the  ca- 
thedral, so  persons  who  heard  him  tell  me. 
Yes,  I  said  so  all  the  time.  The  squint-eye 
never  could  have  played  that.  It  was  all  a 
lie.  There  is  some  great  mystery  here. 
What  do  I  think  it  was  ?  Why,  it  was  the 
soul  of  Maese  PeVez." 


FIORACCIO. 

BY 

GIOVANNI  MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI. 


FIORACCIO. 


EVERYBODY  called  him  Fioraccio,  but  his 
real  name  was  Antonio,  and  he  kept  a  little 
shop  for  bread  and  macaroni  just  there  by 
the  bridge,  where  the  tobacconist's  is  now. 
He  was  a  little  man,  short  and  thick,  always 
dressed  in  a  striped  jacket  and  low  shoes 
which  were  never  tied.  He  never  wore  a  hat, 
summer  or  winter ;  and  when  the  sun  shone 
on  his  head,  that  was  as  bare  as  the  back 
of  your  hand,  it  glittered  like  a  brand-new 
tin  kettle.  He  had  yellow  eyes  like  a  cat's. 
He  always  seemed  to  be  laughing  in  a  sneer- 
ing, scoffing  fashion ;  and  when  he  spoke  he 
whistled,  because  he  had  lost  his  teeth ;  in 
front  he  had  only  two  left,  one  on  each  side. 
If  there  ever  was  a  rascal  in  this  world,  Fio- 


158  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

raccio  was  one,  and  one  of  the  first ;  and  in 
his  own  place  there  was  more  talk  of  him 
than  of  Barabbas  in  the  Passion  of  Our  Lord. 
I  don't  mean  to  speak  ill  of  him,  all  the 
same ;  he's  dead  now,  and  long  since  gone 
to  his  own  place.  As  I  said,  Fioraccio  had 
a  shop  where  he  sold  bread,  wine,  and  mac- 
aroni, and  kept  a  sort  of  little  inn.  But  the 
real  shop  was  behind,  where  the  door  opened 
into  the  garden  ;  there  he  kept  a  store  of  all 
sorts  of  things — wood,  cloth,  old  iron,  bar- 
rels, flasks,  oil-jars,  grain,  wine,  oil — for  Fio- 
raccio was  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods ;  and 
whatever  was  stolen  sooner  or  later  found 
its  way  to  him,  and  in  all  the  years  that  he 
kept  up  this  trade  the  police  never  once  got 
a  single  chance  to  lay  hands  on  him.  They 
were  after  him,  time  and  again,  and  hun- 
dreds of  times  his  shop  was  searched,  but 
to  no  purpose.  When  they  came  to  look 
the  goods  were  safely  hidden,  and  Fioraccio 
never  brought  them  to  light  until  all  danger 
was  over.  If  he  bought  anything  he  never 
paid  for  it ;  nobody  had  ever  seen  the  color 
of  his  money ;  he  paid  in  oaths.  If  any  one 
went  to  his  shop  they  never  got  full  weight. 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       159 

There  was  a  saying,  "At  Fioraccio's  some 
get  eight,  and  some  get  nine,  but  nobody 
gets  ten."  There  were  not  the  inspectors 
then  as  there  are  now.  For  that  matter,  in 
his  shop  nobody  stopped  to  talk,  nobody 
ever  got  the  right  change ;  and  if  anybody 
made  any  complaints,  they  got  nothing  but 
abuse.  For  this  reason  nobody  who  was  in 
a  hurry  ever  went  to  Fioraccio,  and  he  trou- 
bled himself  very  little  about  his  customers. 
"  I  don't  care  if  they  don't  come,"  he  said, 
"they  only  give  trouble."  For  that  shop, 
you  see,  was  only  the  cover  for  the  other 
one.  But  if  there  was  anything  worth  while 
going  on  he  was  ready  enough  to  put  him- 
self out,  and  often  stayed  up  the  whole  night 
long.  Otherwise,  he  sat  the  whole  blessed 
day  at  the  door  of  the  shop,  and  had  some- 
thing spiteful  to  say  to  every  one  who  passed ; 
young  or  old,  man  or  woman,  married  or  un- 
married, nobody  escaped  his  tongue.  He 
knew  neither  Easter  nor  Lent ;  one  day  was 
the  same  as  another  to  him.  If  the  holy 
sacrament  passed  by  his  door,  he  didn't  even 
take  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  or  get  off  his 
stool — he  smoked  faster  than  ever,  to  show 


160  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

his  disrespect.  He  would  hear  nothing  about 
Madonna  or  the  saints ;  and  if  the  priest 
asked  him,  as  he  was  blessing  the  houses, 

"  Fioraccio,  do  you  want  the  holy  water  ?" 

"  I  can  give  it  myself,"  he  would  answer. 

Hardly  was  his  old  father  in  his  grave 
when  he  cleared  all  the  pictures  and  crosses 
out  of  the  house ;  and  when  the  old  woman 
who  swept  out  his  rooms  asked  him  if  he 
wasn't  afraid  of  the  judgment,  he  answered, 

"  I  don't  want  my  wall  covered  with  rub- 
bish." 

If  he'd  been  content  with  being  wicked 
himself!  But  he  was  always  making  mis- 
chief, and  putting  other  people  up  to  evil 
doings.  He  didn't  even  respect  innocence, 
and  taught  little  boys  to  lie  and  steal. 
For  example,  a  nephew  of  his  own,  about 
eleven  years  old,  whom  he  took  to  live  with 
him — he  said  to  the  boy  every  morning  when 
he  sent  him  out, 

"  Now  mind  you  don't  come  home  empty- 
handed  to-night." 

And  if  he  brought  nothing  he  would  give 
him  no  supper,  and  even  beat  him  some- 
times. 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       l6l 

"  If  you  want  your  supper  you  must  earn 
it,"  he  told  him. 

Near  the  shop  of  Fioraccio  there  was  one 
belonging  to  an  old  aunt  of  his,  who  was 
nearly  blind.  Fioraccio  used  to  send  the 
boy  into  this  shop  to  rob  the  till ;  and  as  the 
boy  was  little,  and  there  wasn't  the  paper 
money,  as  there  is  now,  he  used  to  tell  him 
always  to  bring  the  white  money,  and  to 
take  it  while  the  old  woman  was  at  the  door, 
but  not  to  take  too  much  at  a  time  or  peo- 
ple would  find  it  out.  And  when  the  boy 
brought  scudi,  or  other  silver  money,  Fio- 
raccio would  give  him  a  sou  or  a  toy. 

But  one  day  the  boy  was  caught,  and 
beaten  worse  than  a  donkey.  To  excuse 
himself  he  told  the  whole  story,  and  how  he 
had  been  taught  to  steal,  and  by  whom. 
And  Fioraccio,  when  he  heard  it,  beat  him 
worse  than  ever,  and  turned  him  out  of  the 
house.  So  Fioraccio  remained  alone — alone 
in  the  house,  and  alone  in  the  shop ;  and  at 
last  nobody  came  into  the  shop  any  more, 
for  they  didn't  like  to  be  sworn  at.  "  Some 
day  the  earth  will  open  under  his  feet,"  they 
said.  They  called  his  shop  "  Inferno  ;"  and 
ii 


1 62  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

even  now,  if  any  one  is  heard  to  swear  very 
hard,  people  say,  "  Holloa !  has  Fioraccio 
come  to  life  ?"  For  he  had  become  a  prov- 
erb, you  know.  And  so  he  lived  for  many 
years;  but  at  last  his  time  came,  like  other 
people's.  He  began  to  look  very  old,  and 
to  get  up  late,  and  go  to  bed  early.  The 
shop  would  be  open  every  other  day ;  then 
open  two  days  and  shut  three  days.  He 
grew  to  be  a  perfect  skeleton,  all  skin  and 
bones,  and  the  scaldino*  was  never  out  of 
his  hands.  Everybody  said,  "  Ah  !  Fioraccio 
isn't  long  for  this  world."  And.  he  wasn't. 
The  shop  was  always  shut  now.  Sometimes 
he'd  come  to  the  window  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  when  it  was  fine,  but  he  looked  so 
dreadful  it  was  enough  to  frighten  one.  It 
was  old  age  was  the  matter  with  him,  and 
for  that  there's  no  cure.  At  last  he  took  to 
his  bed ;  but  instead  of  repenting  and  chang- 
ing for  the  better,  he  went  on  worse  and 
worse.  He  blasphemed  like  a  fiend.  The 
worse  he  was  the  worse  he  swore.  At  last 

*  An  earthen  pot  with  charcoal,  to  warm  the  hands 
and  feet  by. 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       163 

the  old  woman,  who  was  the  only  creature 
that  went  near  him,  told  him  that  if  he 
didn't  stop  swearing  she  wouldn't  come  any 
more. 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Fioraccio. 

"  Because  I'm  afraid  that  some  day  the 
devil  will  come  and  carry  us  both  off,"  said 
the  old  woman. 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  and  the  devil !  If  there 
was  one  really,  he'd  have  made  me  a  visit 
long  ago,"  said  he. 

The  priest,  when  he  heard  how  ill  Fiorac- 
cio was,  said  to  himself,  "  I  must  go  to  him ; 
there's  no  help  for  it !" 

And  he  went;  but  they  say  he  made  a  fast 
that  day,  though  it  wasn't  in  the  calendar. 
He  knocked,  and  went  up-stairs.  When 
Fioraccio  recognized  the  priest's  voice,  he 
said,  "  What  does  that  fellow  want  with  me  ? 
I  won't  see  him." 

"  How  ?  you  won't  see  him  !"  said  the  old 
woman.  "  It  seems  to  me  it  is  only  polite 
of  him  to  make  you  a  visit." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say,  but  I  don't  care  for 
such  politeness ;  priests  are  like  owls,  birds 
of  ill  omen.  And — " 


164  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

But  the  old  woman  had  opened  the  door 
by  this  time,  and  beckoned  to  the  priest  to 
come  in. 

The  priest  entered  the  room. 

"  But  I  told  you  not  to  come  in,"  howled 
Fioraccio. 

"  Good-morning,  Antonio." 

Fioraccio  only  growled. 

"  I  heard  you  were  ill,  and — " 

"  It  was  something  that  they  didn't  say  I 
was  dead." 

"And  I  thought  I  would  come  and  see 
you."  So  he  began  to  talk;  but  as  soon  as 
he  tried  to  bring  the  talk  round  to  the  point 
he  desired,  Fioraccio  always  changed  the 
subject.  At  last  the  priest  grew  desperate, 
and  laying  his  hand  on  Fioraccio's  shoulder  : 

"  Fiore,"  he  said,  "  you  mustn't  be  angry  if 
I  speak  seriously  to  you.  You  know  that 
we  haven't  only  the  body  to  look  after — " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean ;  but  when  I  want 
to  confess  I'll  send  for  you." 

"  But,  of  course,  whenever  you  choose — " 

"  Pray  don't  trouble  yourself—" 

But  the  priest  wouldn't  be  content  with- 
out preaching  a  little ;  so  he  began  to  talk 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       165 

of  repentance,  and  restitution,  and  such 
things,  you  know.  When  Fioraccio  heard 
the  word  "  restitution  "  he  flew  into  a  rage, 
and  called  out : 

"  Did  I  ever  rob  you  of  anything  ?" 

"  I  don't  mean  that ;  I  mean — " 

"  Now,  listen,  Mr.  Rector.  You  and  I  do 
very  well  as  long  as  we  are  apart,  but  if  we 
meet  we  disagree.  So,  if  we're  to  have 
peace,  you'd  better  not  come  here  any  more. 
Do  you  hear?"  And  he  turned  his  back, 
and  not  another  word  would  he  say. 

"  How  goes  it  ?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

"  He  won't  hear  of  it.  If  those  above 
don't  take  it  up,  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be 
done.  To-morrow  I'll  come,  at  all  events," 
said  the  priest. 

"  The  Lord  and  Our  Blessed  Lady  grant 
it."  But  before  the  next  day  Fioraccio  sud- 
denly grew  worse,  and  before  the  priest  could 
get  to  him  he  was  dead. 

This  happened  in  1837,  and  there  are 
plenty  of  people  living  now  that  remember 
the  whole  story,  and  can  tell  it  you  better 
than  I  can.  Scarcely  was  he  dead  when  he 
turned  black  all  over,  so  that  it  was  a  horror 


1 66  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

to  look  at  him.  They  rang  the  bell,  carried 
him  to  church,  and  then  into  the  church-yard, 
where  they  buried  him. 

The  next  morning,  before  day  (it  was 
hardly  four  o'clock),  the  priest  was  in  bed, 
when  he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
asked  who  was  there,  thinking  some  sick 
person  wanted  him. 

"It's  Cecco,"*  said  the  servant. 

"  What  Cecco  ?" 

"  Cecco  from "  (Fioraccio's  place). 

It  was  the  sexton. 

"  What,  in  Heaven's  name,  does  he  want 
at  this  hour  ?" 

"Wants  to  see  your  reverence." 

"  Send  him  in;  let's  see  what  it  is." 

Cecco  appeared  at  the  door,  hat  in  hand. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"  Something  you'll  hardly  believe.  Didn't 
your  reverence  bury  Fioraccio  yesterday  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  did.     What  about  it  ?" 

"  He's  got  up  again." 

"What?" 

"  He's  got  up  again." 

*  Frank. 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       167 

"  Impossible !" 

"  It's  the  case,  all  the  same.  I  was  pass- 
ing by  on  my  way  to  work  in  the  field. 
When  I  was  passing  the  burial-ground  I 
turned  round  to  look  in,  and  there,  just 
where  we  buried  him,  I  saw  something  white. 
I  thought  I  must  be  dreaming,  and  as  by 
chance  I  had  the  key  in  my  pocket,  I  went 
in  to  look.  It  was  he — Lord  keep  us  from 
lies ! — but  I  turned  short  round,  and  came 
away  without  looking  back." 

"  So  you  came  here  and  waked  me." 

"  Who  else  was  I  to  come  to  ?  The 
strange  thing  is  that  the  earth  looks  as  if  it 
hadn't  been  touched." 

"  Some  one  must  have  done  it  to  play 
you  a  trick.  You're  sure  the  gate  was 
locked  ?" 

"Locked  and  bolted.  And  he  wasn't 
very  pleasant  to  go  near,  either." 

"  Did  you  bury  him  again  ?" 

"  Not  I,  indeed  !  And,  besides,  your  rev- 
erence must  come,  for  perhaps  it  isn't  all 
quite  natural.  I  mean — you  know — " 

"  This  morning  I  can't  manage  it ;  I  have 
that  affair  at  X ." 


1 68  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"You  could  come  before  that;  the  whole 
thing  won't  take  more  than  an  hour." 

"  No,  no ;  mind  what  I  tell  you.  Go  and 
bury  him  again." 

"  But—" 

"  Only  you  put  him  deep  enough,  I'll 
promise  you  he  won't  come  above-ground 
again." 

The  sexton  turned  his  hat  round  and 
round.  At  last : 

"Your  reverence  shall  be  obeyed,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  go  and  get  the  tools."  And  he 
went  out ;  but  before  he  shut  the  chamber 
door  the  priest  called  him  back. 

"  Say  nothing  about  this,  you  know." 

"Your  reverence  may  depend  upon  me. 
I  won't  say  anything.  Well,"  said  Cecco 
to  himself,  as  he  drew  the  door  to  after  him, 
"at  least  I  shall  have  lived  to  say  I've 
buried  the  same  man  twice." 

The  next  morning  there  he  was  again. 
The  priest  called  out : 

"  What  now  ?" 

"  Same  old  story." 

"What  story?" 

"  Fioraccio." 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       169 

"  Above  ground  again  ?" 

"Just  that." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  possible." 

"  But  it's  so.  If  you  don't  believe  me 
come  and  see  for  yourself." 

"  I  do  believe  you,  but  what  can  I  do  ? 
You  must  just  bury  him  again.  Some  one 
must  have — " 

"  If  you  saw  the  state  he's  in  you  wouldn't 
think  anybody  'd  be  likely  to  want  to  med- 
dle with  him." 

"  I  don't  know.     Sometimes — " 

"  Well,  I'll  bury  him  this  time,  and  then 
we'll  see." 

That  same  day — I  remember  it  as  if  it  were 
yesterday — I  was  taking  some  tools  to  the 
smith  to  be  mended,  when  I  came  upon 
Cecco  coming  away  from  the  burial-ground 
with  the  spade  in  his  hand. 

"  Been  putting  somebody  to  bed  ?"  I  asked. 

"  If  you  knew  !"  said  he. 

"What?" 

"  I've  just  buried  Fioraccio." 

"Only  now.  What  did  you  keep  him 
above-ground  so  long  for?  Wanted  to  be 
quite  sure  he  was  dead  ?" 


1 70  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"I've  buried  him  over  again  —  twice." 
And  he  tells  me  the  whole  story. 

I  wouldn't  believe  him,  and  I  remember 
saying :  "  I'm  sure  somebody  helps  him  to 
get  above-ground." 

"  Somebody  does,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
it's  easy  to  guess  who." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  Somebody  who 
has  no  need  of  a  spade.  Look  here,"  I  went 
on.  "  Let's  you  and  I  come  and  watch 
here  to-night,  and  see  who  comes.  Are  you 
afraid  ?" 

"  No  !"  he  answered ;  "  not  with  you.  I 
wouldn't  stay  alone,  though." 

"  Say  nothing  to  anybody,  and  at  nine 
o'clock  to-night  I'll  come  for  you,  and  we'll 
see  if  I'm  right." 

That  night  at  nine  o'clock  there  I  was. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?" 

"  Come  along ;  but  we'll  take  something 
in  our  hands,  in  case  it  should  be  anybody." 

So  we  each  took  a  thick  stick,  and  started 
for  the  cemetery.  It  was  an  ugly  black 
night,  promising  rain.  Outside  we  couldn't 
stay ;  we  should  have  been  seen. 

"  Where  can  we  go  ?" 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       I'Jl 

"  Let's  go  in." 

Cecco  opened  the  gate,  and  we  went  in ; 
but  we  could  not  shut  the  gate  when  we  were 
inside. 

"  Leave  it  ajar,"  said  I,  "if  any  one  comes 
it  won't  be  by  the  gate,  but  over  the  wall." 

"  But  here  we  shall  be  seen." 

"Where's  he  buried?" 

"  There,  by  the  dead-house." 

"  Let's  go  in  there,  then." 

"  In  the  dead-house  ?" 

"  Where  else  ?    There's  no  other  place." 

There  was  a  bench,  and  we  sat  down.  I 
began  to  light  my  pipe. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?"  asked  Cecco  ;  "if 
they  see  the  light  they'll  know  there's  some 
one  here." 

"  Oh  yes,  as  if  I  was  going  to  stay  here 
all  night  without  even  smoking ;  I  should  go 
to  sleep." 

We  said  very  little  more ;  neither  he  nor  I 
had  any  wish  to  talk.  We  heard  nothing 
but  the  bats,  which  kept  flying  in  and  out ; 
now  and  then  a  dog  barked. 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  I  thought  I 
heard  steps  on  the  road,  but  they  passed  by. 


172  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"It's  Faustino,"  said  Cecco.  "I  know 
his  whistle  " — for  he  had  begun  to  whistle 
as  he  passed  the  gate,  as  people  do  when 
they  feel  a  little  timid.  About  half  an  hour 
later  an  owl  flew  close  by  my  face,  and  gave 
me  a  great  start ;  but  she  was  afraid  of  us, 
and  flew  off,  and  we  heard  her  hoot  outside. 

"  It  must  be  nearly  midnight." 

"  We  might  go  now.  Nothing  is  likely  to 
happen  to-night,"  said  I. 

"  Wait  till  the  clock  strikes." 

"  Very  well,  we'll  wait." 

"Listen,  there's  the  clock.  One,  two? 
three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten, 
eleven — twelve." 

I  felt  him  catch  me  by  the  arm. 

"  Look,  look  there !" 

There,  where  Fioraccio  was  buried,  the 
earth  began  to  heave  and  roll,  rising  slowly, 
slowly,  as  if  it  were  pushed  up  from  below, 
and  we  saw  him  rise  out  of  it  upright ,  he 
remained  so  for  a  moment,  and  then  fell 
at  full  length  on  the  grave.  Cecco  said  not 
a  word,  but  strode  off  across  the  cemetery 
and  went  out,  and  I  after  him.  I  wanted 
to  turn  back  and  look  if  it  were  really  he, 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       173 

but  I  hadn't  the  courage;  I  passed  close  by 
him,  but  I  didn't  look.  I  tell  it  you  as  it 
happened.  Cecco  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot ;  I  knew  by  his  voice. 

"  Did  you  see  ?"  he  said.  ' 

"  I  saw  it.     Won't  you  shut  the  gate  ?" 

"  I  won't  touch  anything.  The  rector  must 
come  to-morrow  and  see  for  himself — he 
wouldn't  believe  me.  I'll  go  straight  to  him 
now,  and  you  must  go  with  me." 

"  But  we  can't  go  at  this  hour,"  said  I ; 
"to-morrow  morning  early,  rather.  I'll  go 
home  with  you  to  sleep.  I  told  them  at 
home  that  I  should  be  out  all  night." 

In  the  morning  early  we  went  to  the  priest, 
and  told  him  all  that  happened. 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"If  your  reverence  doesn't  know  who 
should  ?"  asked  Cecco. 

"  If  you  tried—" 

"  Tried  what  ?  Burying  him  again  ?  You 
see  it's  of  no  use." 

" Certainly  it  is  no  use,"  said  I ;  "in  holy 
ground  he  won't  stay,  that's  quite  plain — 
such  a  rascal  as  he  was." 

"Hush!"  said   the  priest.    "Don't  tell 


174  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

any  one  of  this — I  lay  it  on  your  consciences; 
and,  besides,  we  have  no  right  to  judge  the 
dead.  You,  Cecco,  go  and  put  him  once 
more  underground." 

"  Your  reverence  may  command  me  in 
everything,  but,  saving  your  presence,  I  can't 
and  I  won't  go  back  to  the  cemetery  again ; 
here's  the  key,  but  go  I  won't — that's  flat." 

"  Never  mind,  I'll  send  some  one  with 
you,  if  you're  frightened.  And  you  (to  me) 

go  to  the  convent  of ,  with  a  note  for 

the  father  superior." 

In  fact  he  wrote  a  note,  and  I  took  it  to 
the  convent.  The  superior  read  it,  and  said 
to  me :  "I  understand ;  tell  the  rector  that 
everything  shall  be  done  as  he  asks." 

I  took  back  the  answer  to  the  priest. 

"  Have  you  got  him  underground  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  but  I  thought  we  never  should  man- 
age it,  I  assure  you." 

"  Do  you  want  anything  more  of  me  ?" 

"  Not  now ;  to-night,  perhaps.  If  I  want 
you  I'll  send  for  you." 

"You  will  find  me  at  home;  I'll  come  di- 
rectly." 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       175 

All  the  while  I  was  at  work  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  the  priest  could  want  of  me,  but  I 
thought  it  must  have  something  to  do  with 
Fioraccio.  Just  after  sunset  the  priest's 
nephew  came  to  tell  me  I  was  to  go  to  the 
parsonage.  I  went,  and  found  there  two 
Capuchin  friars,  who  had  come  to  exorcise 
Fioraccio.  The  priest  wanted  me  to  come 
with  him. 

"When?"  I  asked. 

"  To-night." 

"  Then  I  must  go  and  tell  my  wife." 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  always 
out  at  night  ?"  asked  she. 

I  told  her  some  story  or  other,  and  after 
supper  I  went  off  to  the  priest.  He  would 
have  it  that  I  should  sup  again  with  him. 
The  friars  would  neither  eat  nor  drink,  and 
we  heard  them  praying  aloud  in  the  next 
room,  and  reciting  the  office.  Just  before 
midnight  one  of  the  friars  put  his  head  in 
at  the  door  and  said : 

"  It  is  time  now.     Let  us  go." 

The  priest  turned  pale,  but  he  was  forced 
to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  to  come 
with  us.  We  took  a  lantern,  and  w?at  out 


176  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

of  the  house  by  the  garden -door.  There 
were  five  of  us — the  priest,  the  two  friars, 
Cecco,  and  I,  all  as  silent  as  the  grave ;  in 
the  dark,  that  way,  we  seemed  like  conspira- 
tors. I  was  in  front  with  the  Capuchins; 
Cecco  and  the  priest  came  behind.  When 
we  came  to  the  gate  I  lit  the  lantern;  plenty 
of  trouble  it  gave  me,  too ;  I  thought  it  would 
never  light,  but  at  last  I  found  a  match  that 
would  kindle.  The  priest  was  the  first  to 
enter  the  cemetery. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?"  whispered  Cecco  ; 
"  there  he  is  again  !" 

I  was  in  front.  The  light  fell  full  on  the 
face  of  Fioraccio.  But  why  do  I  call  it  a 
face  ?  It  was  black  as  charcoal,  with  open 
mouth  and  those  two  yellow  teeth,  and  the 
yellow  eyes  wide  open,  shining  in  the  dark- 
ness. I  turned  sick  and  stopped  short. 

"  Heavens !  how  ugly  he  is  !"  I  cried. 

"  Hush !"  said  the  friar  who  was  nearest 
me. 

Then  they  put  on  their  stoles,  opened 
their  books,  sprinkled  the  dead  with  holy 
water,  and  recited  the  service  of  exorcism. 
I  held  the  light,  the. priest  clung  to  my  sleeve, 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       177 

and  I  felt  him  tremble;  indeed,  from  time 
to  time,  he  gave  such  convulsive  starts  that 
the  lantern  shook  in  my  hand,  and  the  friars 
could  not  see  to  read.  "  Antonio  !  Antonio  !" 
called  out  the  friar,  "  Antonio !  answer,  in 
God's  name." 

Not  a  word  did  he  say. 

"Try  calling  him  Fioraccio;  perhaps  he 
won't  answer  to  his  Christian  name."  This 
I  whispered  into  the  friar's  ear. 

The  Capuchin  sprinkled  the  corpse  once 
more  with  holy  water,  then  began  calling, 
"  Fioraccio,  answer,  answer !" 

There  came  a  deep  voice,  hollow-sound- 
ing, and  far  away,  as  if  from  fathoms  under- 
ground. 

"  Who  calls  me  ?    What  do  you  want  ?" 

It  was  the  devil,  who  answered  for  him. 

"  Why  do  you  not  stay  where  you  have 
been  laid.  What  is  the  reason  you  do  not 
rest  ?" 

"  Because  I  cannot." 

"  Why  can  you  not  rest  ?" 

"Because — "  And  he  began  to  tell  us 
why.  Such  things !  such  things !  that  he 
had  done  in  life.  The  priest  put  it  all  un- 

12 


1 78  MODERN  GHOSTS. 

der  the  seal  of  confession  with  us  afterwards. 
He  said  "that  he  was  damned  body  and 
soul."  And  saying  this,  he  swore  a  fearful 
oath.  And  then  he  said  : 

"  Take  me  away  from  here." 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?" 

"To  the  Arno.  Under  water  twenty 
braccios*  deep.  There,  where  I  can  hear 
no  bells." 

"  You  shall  have  three  braccios." 

We  heard  another  oath,  always  in  that 
voice  underground,  for  Fioraccio's  mouth 
never  stirred.  And  the  friars  sprinkled  him 
again  with  holy  water. 

"  For  the  last  time ;  how  much  water 
must  you  have  ?" 

"  Five  braccios." 

"  You  shall  have  three,  and  no  more." 

He  went  on  swearing.     At  last  he  said  : 

"  Well,  if  I  must  I  must,  but  not  in  too 
much  of  a  hurry." 

And  at  that  moment  we  saw  something, 
dressed  all  in  red,  fly  up  over  the  wall. 

*  Braccio,  a  measure  used  formerly  in  central  It- 
aly— a  little  more  than  half  a  metre  long. 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       179 

"We  must  come  back  to-morrow,"  said 
the  friar.  "  God  have  us  all  in  his  holy  keep- 
ing!" 

We  left  the  cemetery;  you  should  have 
seen  the  priest  how  he  trembled.  The  next 
day  he  sent  for  me  and  told  me :  "  We  must 
take  him  away  to-night,  and  you  must  make 
a  coffin  for  him." 

"  But  I  never  made  a  coffin  in  my  life." 

"  You  can  manage  it  somehow.  You  can 
generally  get  to  the  end  of  what  you  under- 
take. And  it  needn't  be  such  a  fine  piece 
of  work,  you  know,  so  long  as  it  holds  to- 
gether." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I'll  do  my  best"  I  went 
home,  and  looked  up  some  chestnut  planks 
I  had,  and  made  the  coffin.  Then  I  went 
to  the  parsonage,  where  I  found  the  Capu- 
chin friars  and  the  priest  talking  together. 

"The  coffin  is  done,"  I  said.  "Shall  I 
bring  it  here  ?" 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?  To-night, 
after  dark,  you  must  take  it  to  the  ceme- 
tery and  put  him  into  it;  you  can  call 
Cecco,  if  he  will  go  with — you,  in  short,  do 
the  best  you  can;  only  get  him  into  the 


l8o  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

coffin.  Then  he  must  be  carried  —  some- 
how—" 

"  I  understand,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  to  look 
after  the  whole  business.  Very  well,  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do.  Cecco  wouldn't  hear  of 
carrying  him ;  we  had  better  ask  some  of 
the  Brotherhood." 

"  No ;  because  we  must  keep  it  as  quiet 
as  we  can." 

"  As  quiet  as  you  like.  But  it  is  a  long 
way  to  the  Arno,  and  that  coffin  is  made  of 
chestnut.  It  is  heavy,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Can't  you  find  a  cart  ?" 

It  was  settled  that  I  should  borrow  my 
cousin's  cart,  and  the  priest  should  find 
some  more  men.  Then  I  went  for  Cecco, 
who  made  no  end  of  difficulty  about  coming, 
and  after  dark  we  carried  the  coffin  to  the 
cemetery.  There  he  was  again,  uglier  than 
ever.  One  could  see  that  he  was  damned 
only  to  look  at  him. 

"  Here,  Cecco,"  said  I,  "  help  me  to  lift 
him."  I  turned  round.  No  Cecco.  I  ran 
out  of  the  gate,  and  found  him  in  the  road. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  "  if  you  can't  man: 
age  it  by  yourself,  you  must  get  some- 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       l8l 

body  else,  for  you've  seen  the  last  of  me  in 
there." 

I  went  back.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  run 
away,  too,  but  I  had  promised  his  reverence, 
and,  besides,  it  wouldn't  have  done  to  make  a 
scandal.  So  I  set  the  coffin  on  its  side,  and 
rolled  him  into  it.  Bussed  Virgin  !  it  almost 
made  me  faint  away.  Then  I  had  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  turn  round  and  look  at 
him.  It  was  the  light,  perhaps,  but  he  look- 
ed just  as  if  he  was  grinning  as  he  used  to 
when  he  was  alive.  I  threw  the  cover  on, 
anyhow,  and  bolted — I  must  say  I  bolted — 
as  hard  as  I  could  go.  The  priest  told  me 
to  harness  the  cart  towards  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  when  there  would  be  no  one  about, 
and  bring  it  to  the  cemetery.  I  found  wait- 
ing for  me  at  the  gate  the  priest,  the  two 
friars,  Cecco,  a  brother  of  Cecco's,  and  three 
others  whom  the  priest  had  sent  for.  We 
took  up  the  coffin  in  silence,  and  put  it  in 
the  cart ;  then  I  took  the  donkey  by  the 
bridle,  and  we  set  off.  It  was  a  dark,  close 
night,  when  one  could  hardly  breathe  or  see 
where  one  was  going,  though  we  had  two 
lanterns.  What  we  went  through  on  that 


1 82  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

road  God  only  knows — now  we  were  on  this 
side  of  the  road,  now  on  that,  now  among 
the  trees,  never  ten  paces  straight  ahead; 
and  the  poor  donkey  tugged  and  tugged,  as 
if  the  coffin  had  been  made  of  lead.  Every 
minute  one  or  the  other  of  the  lanterns 
went  out.  From  time  to  time  we  passed 
through  a  thick  fog,  so  tlr.ck  that  we  lost 
sight  of  each  other,  of  tl*e  east,  of  every- 
thing. The  friars  went  on  muttering  prayers 
and  sprinkling  holy  water,  and  we  recom- 
mended ourselves  to  God  and  to  the  Ma- 
donna. Even  I  lost  courage  altogether. 
As  for  the  poor  priest,  we  had  to  leave  him 
at  a  farm-house  on  the  road,  for  he  could 
go  no  farther.  But  that  was  nothing  to 
what  followed.  Just  as  we  passed  the  turn- 
ing at  the  mill  of  a  hurricane  burst 

over  us  that  uprooted  trees,  carried  off  hay- 
stacks, tiles  off  the  roofs,  all  sorts  of  things. 
We  were  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  leaves, 
twigs,  straw,  and  dust.  I  never  remember 
such  a  whirlwind.  Two  hay-stacks  flew  off 
into  the  air  as  if  they  had  been  locks  of 
tow ;  a  big  pine-tree  that  two  men  couldn't 
clasp  round  went  rolling  over  the  plain  like 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.       1 83 

a  twig;  and  along  the  banks  of  the  Arno 
oaks  uprooted,  willows  twisted  together  like 
yarn.  Nothing  to  be  seen  of  the  cart  or  of 
the  beast — nothing ;  we  could  not  tell  which 
way  they  had  gone.  We  commended  our 
souls  to  Heaven,  and  went  on.  I  don't 
know  how  we  found  our  way  to  the  bank  of 
the  Arno,  just  there  where  it  is  deepest. 
We  could  hardly  recognize  the  place.  We 
found  the  donkey  standing  there,  quite  still. 

"  Here,"  said  the  friar. 

"  No,"  said  the  same  voice  we  had  heard 
in  the  cemetery.  "  More  water — more  wa- 
ter !"  And  then  oaths,  to  make  one's  hair 
stand  on  end  with  fright. 

"  No ;  there's  enough  here." 

Then  more  oaths,  and  more  oaths. 

"  Here,"  said  the  friar,  "  I  command  you, 
in  the  name  of  God !" 

All  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  great  rush  and 
sputter  of  flame,  as  if  one  had  thrown  sul- 
phur on  a  fire,  and  we  saw  a  figure  like  a 
galley-slave,  all  in  red,  and  heard  a  splash  and 
a  gurgle,  and  when  we  looked  at  the  Cart  it 
was  empty.  I  went  home,  put  the  beast  in 
the  stall,  and  turned  to  go  to  the  house. 


184  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

"Who's  that?"  cried  my  wife.  "Wait; 
I'll  get  up." 

I  didn't  answer ;  it  didn't  seem  as  if  it 
was  me  she  was  speaking  to. 

"Will  you  have  something  to  eat?"  she 
said.  "  You  had  no  supper  yesterday.  I'll 
make  a  fire  and  cook  this  bit  of  beef;  it 
will  only  take  a  minute."  So  saying,  she 
began  to  kindle  the  fire. 

I  looked  on  while  my  wife  put  a  fagot  on 
the  coals,  which  began  to  sputter  and  send 
out  sparks,  and  I  said,  without  thinking, 

"Just  like  him." 

"  Just  like  who  ?"  said  she. 

I  perceived  that  I  had  said  too  much,  and 
wanted  not  to  say  anything  more  ;  but  it  was 
of  no  use,  she  had  it  all  out  of  me.  I  tried 
to  eat,  but  couldn't  swallow  a  mouthful.  I 
went  to  bed.  When  I  was  nearly  asleep  I 
heard  the  house  door  open.  I  listened,  and 
heard  a  noise  as  if  the  kettle  and  the  bucket 
were  rolling  over  the  floor. 

"There's  somebody  there,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Hush,"  said  I,  "  I  hear  them,"  for  the 
noise  began  again. 

"  Get  up ;  there's  some  one  there," 


GIOVANNI    MAGHERINI-GRAZIANI.        185 

I  got  up  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  No- 
body there — the  bucket  and  the  kettle  each 
in  its  place,  the  door  shut  and  bolted.  I 
went  back  to  bed,  but  couldn't  close  an  eye 
until  morning.  The  noise  kept  on  all  night 
in  the  kitchen.  The  next  morning,  when  I 
went  out,  I  met  the  old  woman  who  had 
taken  care  of  Fioraccio.  She  stopped  me 
and  asked  me  about  what  had  happened  in 
the  night,  of  which  she  had  heard  some- 
thing. When  I  told  her  about  the  noise  in 
the  kitchen,  she  said  :  "  *  At  that  same  hour 
I  could  not  sleep,  and  I  took  up  my  rosary 
meaning  to  say  it  for  him.  Hardly  had  I 
begun  when  I  saw  him  appear,  all  dressed 
in  red,  and  he  said  to  me : 

" '  No  need  to  say  it  for  me ;  it's  of  no  use. 
I'm  damned — damned  for  all  eternity.' " 


THE   SILENT  WOMAN, 

BY 

LEOPOLD  KOMPERT. 


THE  SILENT  WOMAN. 


THE  uproarious  merriment  of  a  wedding- 
feast  burst  forth  into  the  night  from  a  brill- 
iantly lighted  house  in  the  "  gasse  "  (narrow 
street).  It  was  one  of  those  nights  touched 
with  the  warmth  of  spring,  but  dark  and  full 
of  soft  mist.  Most  fitting  it  was  for  a  cele- 
bration of  the  union  of  two  yearning  hearts 
to  share  the  same  lot,  a  lot  that  may  possi- 
bly dawn  in  sunny  brightness,  but  also  be- 
come clouded  and  sullen — for  a  long,  long 
time  !  But  how  merry  and  joyous  they  were 
over  there,  those  people  of  the  happy  olden 
times  !  They,  like  us,  had  their  troubles  and 
trials,  and  when  misfortune  visited  them  it 
came  not  to  them  with  soft  cushions  and  ten- 
der pressures  of  the  hand.  Rough  and  hard, 


igo  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

with  clinched  fist,  it  laid  hold  upon  them. 
But  when  they  gave  vent  to  their  happy 
feelings  and  sought  to  enjoy  themselves, 
they  were  like  swimmers  in  cooling  waters. 
They  struck  out  into  the  stream  with  fresh- 
ness and  courage,  suffered  themselves  to  be 
borne  along  by  the  current  whithersoever  it 
took  its  course.  This  was  the  cause  of 
such  a  jubilee,  such  a  thoughtlessly  noisy 
outburst  of  all  kinds  of  soul-possessing  gay- 
ety  from  this  house  of  nuptials. 

"  And  if  I  had  known,"  the  bride's  father, 
the  rich  Ruben  Klattaner,  had  just  said, 
"  that  it  would  take  the  last  gulden  in  my 
pocket,  then  out  it  would  have  come." 

In  fact,  it  did  appear  as  if  the  last  groschen 
had  really  taken  flight,  and  was  fluttering 
about  in  the  form  of  platters  heaped  up  with 
geese  and  pastry-tarts.  Since  two  o'clock — 
that  is,  since  the  marriage  ceremony  had 
been  performed  out  in  the  open  street — un- 
til nearly  midnight,  the  wedding-feast  had 
been  progressing,  and  even  yet  the  sarvers, 
or  waiters,  were  hurrying  from  room  to  room. 
It  was  as  if  a  twofold  blessing  had  descend- 
ed upon  all  this  abundance  of  food  and 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  191 

drink,  for,  in  the  first  place,  they  did  not 
seem  to  diminish  ;  secondly,  they  ever  found 
a  new  place  for  disposal.  To  be  sure,  this 
appetite  was  sharpened  by  the  presence  of 
a  little  dwarf-like,  unimportant-looking  man. 
He  was  esteemed,  however,  none  the  less 
highly  by  every  one.  They  had  specially 
written  to  engage  the  celebrated  "Leb  Narr," 
of  Prague.  And  when  was  ever  a  mood  so 
out  of  sorts,  a  heart  so  imbittered  as  not 
to  thaw  out  and  laugh  if  Leb  Narr  played 
one  of  his  pranks.  Ah,  thou  art  now  dead, 
good  fool !  Thy  lips,  once  always  ready 
with  a  witty  reply,  are  closed !  Thy  mouth, 
then  never  still,  now  speaks  no  more  !  But 
when  the  hearty  peals  of  laughter  once  rang 
forth  at  thy  command,  intercessors,  as  it 
were,  in  thy  behalf  before  the  very  throne 
of  God,  thou  hadst  nothing  to  fear.  And 
the  joy  of  that  "other"  world  was  thine, 
that  joy  that  has  ever  belonged  to  the  most 
pious  of  country  rabbis  !" 

In  the  mean  time  the  young  people  had 
assembled  in  one  of  the  rooms  to  dance.  It 
was  strange  how  the  sound  of  violins  and 
trumpets  accorded  with  the  drolleries  of  the 


Ip2  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

wit  from  Prague.  In  one  part  the  outbursts 
of  merriment  were  so  boisterous  that  the 
very  candles  on  the  little  table  seemed  to 
flicker  with  terror ;  in  another  an  ordinary 
conversation  was  in  progress,  which  now 
and  then  only  ran  over  into  a  loud  tittering, 
when  some  old  lady  slipped  into  the  circle 
and  tried  her  skill  at  a  redowa,  then  alto- 
gether unknown  to  the  young  people.  In 
the  very  midst  of  the  tangle  of  dancers  was 
to  be  seen  the  bride  in  a  heavy  silk  wed- 
ding-gown. The  point  of  her  golden  hood 
hung  far  down  over  her  face.  She  danced 
continuously.  She  danced  with  every  one 
that  asked  her.  Had  one,  however,  observed 
the  actions  of  the  young  woman,  they  would 
certainly  have  seemed  to  him  hurried,  agi- 
tated, almost  wild.  She  looked  no  one  in  the 
eye,  not  even  her  own  bridegroom.  He  stood 
for  the  most  part  in  the  door-way,  and  evi- 
dently took  more  pleasure  in  the  witticisms 
of  the  fool  than  in  the  dance  or  the  lady 
dancers.  But  who  ever  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment why  the  young  woman's  hand  burned, 
why  her  breath  was  so  hot  when  one  came 
near  to  her  lips  ?  Who  should  have  noticed 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  193 

so  strange  a  thing?  A  low  whispering  al- 
ready passed  through  the  company,  a  stealthy 
smile  stole  across  many  a  lip.  A  bevy  of 
ladies  was  seen  to  enter  the  room  suddenly. 
The  music  dashed  off  into  one  of  its  loudest 
pieces,  and,  as  if  by  enchantment,  the  newly 
made  bride  disappeared  behind  the  ladies. 
The  bridegroom,  with  his  stupid,  smiling 
mien,  was  still  left  standing  on  the  threshold. 
But  it  was  not  long  before  he  too  vanished. 
One  could  hardly  say  how  it  happened. 
But  people  understand  such  skilful  move- 
ments by  experience,  and  will  continue  to 
understand  them  as  long  as  there  are  brides 
and  grooms  in  the  world. 

This  disappearance  of  the  chief  person- 
ages, little  as  it  seemed  to  be  noticed,  gave, 
however,  the  signal  for  general  leave-taking. 
The  dancing  became  drowsy ;  it  stopped  all 
at  once,  as  if  by  appointment.  That  noisy 
confusion  now  began  which  always  attends 
so  merry  a  wedding-party.  Half-drunken 
voices  could  be  heard  still  intermingled  with 
a  last,  hearty  laugh  over  a  joke  of  the  fool 
from  Prague  echoing  across  the  table.  Here 
and  there  some  one,  not  quite  sure  of  his 


194  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

balance,  was  fumbling  for  the  arm  of  his 
chair  or  the  edge  of  the  table.  This  result- 
ed in  his  overturning  a  dish  that  had  been 
forgotten,  or  in  spilling  a  beer-glass.  While 
this,  in  turn,  set  up  a  new  hubbub,  some  one 
else,  in  his  eagerness  to  betake  himself  from 
the  scene,  fell  flat  into  the  very  debris.  But 
all  this  tumult  was  really  hushed  the  mo- 
ment they  all  pressed  to  the  door,  for  at  that 
very  instant  shrieks,  cries  of  pain,  were  heard 
issuing  from  the  entrance  below.  In  an  in- 
stant the  entire  outpouring  crowd  with  all 
possible  force  pushed  back  into  the  room, 
but  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  stream 
was  pressed  back  again.  Meanwhile,  painful 
cries  were  again  heard  from  below,  so  pain- 
ful, indeed,  that  they  restored  even  the  most 
drunken  to  a  state  of  consciousness. 

"  By  the  living  God !"  they  cried  to  each 
other,  "  what  is  the  matter  down  there  ?  Is 
the  house  on  fire  ?" 

"  She  is  gone !  she  is  gone !"  shrieked  a 
woman's  voice  from  the  entry  below. 

"  Who  ?  who  ?"  groaned  the  wedding- 
guests,  seized,  as  it  were,  with  an  icy  horror. 

"  Gone !  gone !"  cried  the  woman   from 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  195 

the  entry,  and  hurrying  up  the  stairs  came 
Selde  Klattaner,  the  mother  of  the  bride, 
pale  as  death,  her  eyes  dilated  with  most 
awful  fright,  convulsively  grasping  a  candle 
in  her  hand.  "For  God's  sake,  what  has 
happened  ?"  was  heard  on  every  side  of  her. 

The  sight  of  so  many  people  about  her, 
and  the  confusion  of  voices,  seemed  to  re- 
lease the  poor  woman  from  a  kind  of  stu- 
por. She  glanced  shyly  about  her  then,  as 
if  overcome  with  a  sense  of  shame  stronger 
than  her  terror,  and  said,  in  a  suppressed 
tone : 

"Nothing,  nothing,  good  people.  In 
God's  name,  I  ask,  what  was  there  to  hap- 
pen ?" 

Dissimulation,  however,  was  too  evident 
to  suffice  to  deceive  them. 

"Why,  then,  did  you  shriek  so,  Selde," 
called  out  one  of  the  guests  to  her,  "  if  noth- 
ing happened  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  gone,"  Selde  now  moaned 
in  heart-rending  tones,  "  and  she  has  cer- 
tainly done  herself  some  harm !" 

The  cause  of  this  strange  scene  was  now 
first  discovered.  The  bride  has  disappeared 


196  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

from  the  wedding-feast.  Soon  after  that  she 
had  vanished  in  such  a  mysterious  way,  the 
bridegroom  went  below  to  the  dimly-light- 
ed room  to  find  her,  but  in  vain.  At  first 
thought  this  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  sort 
of  bashful  jest ;  but  not  finding  her  here, 
a  mysterious  foreboding  seized  him.  He 
called  to  the  mother  of  the  bride : 

"  Woe  to  me  !     This  woman  has  gone  !" 

Presently  this  party,  that  had  so  admira- 
bly controlled  itself,  was  again  thrown  into 
commotion.  "There  was  nothing  to  do,"  was 
said  on  all  sides,  "  but  to  ransack  every  nook 
and  corner.  Remarkable  instances  of  such 
disappearances  of  brides  had  been  known. 
Evil  spirits  were  wont  to  lurk  about  such 
nights  and  to  inflict  mankind  with  all  sorts 
of  sorceries."  Strange  as  this  explanation 
may  seem,  there  were  many  who  believed  it 
at  this  very  moment,  and,  most  of  all,  Selde 
Klattaner  herself.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment,  for  she  at  once  exclaimed : 

"  No,  no,  my  good  people,  she  is  gone ;  I 
know  she  is  gone  !" 

Now  for  the  first  time  many  of  them, 
especially  the  mothers,  felt  particularly  un- 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  197 

easy,  and  anxiously  called  their  daughters 
to  them.  Only  a  few  showed  courage,  and 
urged  that  they  must  search  and  search, 
even  if  they  had  to  turn  aside  the  river  Iser 
a  hundred  times.  They  urgently  pressed  on, 
called  for  torches  and  lanterns,  and  started 
forth.  The  cowardly  ran  after  them  up  and 
down  the  stairs.  Before  any  one  perceived 
it  the  room  was  entirely  forsaken. 

Ruben  Klattaner  stood  in  the  hall  entry 
below,  and  let  the  people  hurry  past  him 
without  exchanging  a  word  with  any.  Bit- 
ter disappointment  and  fear  had  almost 
crazed  him.  One  of  the  last  to  stay  in  the 
room  above  with  Selde  was,  strange  to  say, 
Leb  Narr,  of  Prague.  After  all  had  depart- 
ed, he  approached  the  miserable  mother, 
and,  in  a  tone  least  becoming  his  general 
manner,  inquired  : 

"  Tell  me,  now,  Mrs.  Selde,  did  she  not 
wish  to  have  *  him  '  ?" 

"  Whom  ?  whom  ?"  cried  Selde,  with  re- 
newed alarm,  when  she  found  herself  alone 
with  the  fool. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Leb,  in  a  most  sympathet- 
ic manner,  approaching  still  nearer  to  Selde, 


198  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

"  that  maybe  you  had  to  make  your  daugh- 
ter marry  him." 

"  Make  ?  And  have  we,  then,  made  her  ?" 
moaned  Selde,  staring  at  the  fool  with  a 
look  of  uncertainty. 

"Then  nobody  needs  to  search  for  her," 
replied  the  fool,  with  a  sympathetic  laugh, 
at  the  same  time  retreating.  "  It's  better 
to  leave  her  where  she  is." 

Without  saying  thanks  or  good-night,  he 
was  gone. 

Meanwhile  the  cause  of  all  this  disturb- 
ance had  arrived  at  the  end  of  her  flight. 

Close  by  the  synagogue  was  situated  the 
house  of  the  rabbi.  It  was  built  in  an  angle 
of  a  very  narrow  street,  set  in  a  framework 
of  tall  shade-trees.  Even  by  daylight  it  was 
dismal  enough.  At  night  it  was  almost  im- 
possible for  a  timid  person  to  approach  it, 
for  people  declared  that  the  low  supplica- 
tions of  the  dead  could  be  heard  in  the 
dingy  house  of  God  when  at  night  they  took 
the  rolls  of  the  law  from  the  ark  to  summon 
their  members  by  name. 

Through  this  retired  street  passed,  or  rath- 
er ran,  at  this  hour  a  shy  form.  'Arriving  at 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  199 

the  dwelling  of  the  rabbi,  she  glanced  back- 
ward to  see  whether  any  one  was  following 
her.  But  all  was  silent  and  gloomy  enough 
about  her.  A  pale  light  issued  from  one  of 
the  windows  of  the  synagogue  ;  it  came  from 
the  "  eternal  lamp  "  hanging  in  front  of  the 
ark  of  the  covenant.  But  at  this  moment  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  a  supernatural  eye  was 
gazing  upon  her.  Thoroughly  affrighted,  she 
seized  the  little  iron  knocker  of  the  door  and 
struck  it  gently.  But  the  throb  of  her  beat- 
ing heart  was  even  louder,  more  violent,  than 
this  blow.  After  a  pause,  footsteps  were 
heard  passing  slowly  along  the  hall-way. 

The  rabbi  had  not  occupied  this  lonely 
house  a  long  time.  His  predecessor,  almost 
a  centenarian  in  years,  had  been  laid  to  rest 
a  few  months  before.  The  new  rabbi  had 
been  called  from  a  distant  part  of  the  coun- 
try. He  was  unmarried,  and  in  the  prime 
of  life.  No  one  had  known  him  before  his 
coming.  But  his  personal  nobility  and  the 
profundity  of  his  scholarship  made  up  for 
his  deficiency  in  years.  An  aged  mother  had 
accompanied  him  from  their  distant  home, 
and  she  took  the  place  of  wife  and  child. 


200  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

"Who  is  there?"  asked  the  rabbi,  who 
had  been  busy  at  his  desk  even  at  this  late 
hour  and  thus  had  not  missed  hearing  the 
knocker. 

"  It  is  I,"  the  figure  without  responded, 
almost  inaudibly. 

"Speak  louder,  if  you  wish  me  to  hear 
you,"  replied  the  rabbi. 

"It  is  I,  Ruben  Klattaner's  daughter," 
she  repeated. 

^he  name  seemed  to  sound  strange  to  the 
rabbi.  He  as  yet  knew  too  few  of  his  con- 
gregation to  understand  that  this  very  day 
he  performed  the  marriage  ceremony  of  the 
person  who  had  just  repeated  her  name. 
Therefore  he  called  out,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  What  do  you  wish  so  late  at  night  ?" 

"  Open  the  door,  rabbi,"  she  answered, 
pleadingly,  "  or  I  shall  die  at  once !" 

The  bolt  was  pushed  back.  Something 
gleaming,  rustling,  glided  past  the  rabbi  into 
the  dusky  hall.  The  light  of  the  candle  in 
his  hand  was  not  sufficient  to  allow  him  to 
descry  it.  Before  he  had  time  to  address 
her,  she  had  vanished  past  him  and  had  dis- 
appeared through  the  open  door  into  the 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  2OI 

room.  Shaking  his  head,  the  rabbi  again 
bolted  the  door. 

On  re-entering  the  room  he  saw  a  woman's 
form  sitting  in  the  chair  which  he  usually 
occupied.  She  had  her  back  turned  to  him. 
Her  head  was  bent  low  over  her  breast. 
Her  golden  wedding-hood,  with  its  shading 
lace,  was  pulled  down  over  her  forehead. 
Courageous  and  pious  as  the  rabbi  was,  he 
could  not  rid  himself  of  a  feeling  of  terror. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  demanded,  in  a  loud 
tone,  as  if  its  sound  alone  would  banish  the 
presence  of  this  being  that  seemed  to  him 
at  this  moment  to  be  the  production  of  all 
the  enchantments  of  evil  spirits. 

She  raised  herself,  and  cried  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  come  from  the  agony  of  a 
human  being : 

"  Do  you  not  know  me  —  me,  whom  you 
married  a  few  hours  since  under  the  chuppe 
(marriage-canopy)  to  a  husband  ?" 

On  hearing  this  familiar  voice  the  rabbi 
stood  speechless.  He  gazed  at  the  young 
woman.  Now,  indeed,  he  must  regard  her  as 
one  bereft  of  reason,  rather  than  as  a  spectre. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  she,"  he  stammered  out, 


2O2  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

after  a  pause,  for  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  found  words  to  answer,  "  why  are  you 
here  and  not  in  the  place  where  you  belong?" 

"  I  know  no  other  place  to  which  I  belong 
more  than  here  where  I  now  am !"  she  an- 
swered, severely. 

These  words  puzzled  the  rabbi  still  more. 
Is  it  really  an  insane  woman  before  him  ? 
He  must  have  thought  so,  for  he  now  ad- 
dressed her  in  a  gentle  tone  of  voice,  as 
we  do  those  suffering  from  this  kind  of  sick- 
ness, in  order  not  to  excite  her,  and  said : 

"  The  place  where  you  belong,  my  daugh- 
ter, is  in  the  house  of  your  parents,  and,  since 
you  have  to-day  been  made  a  wife,  your  place 
is  in  your  husband's  house." 

The  young  woman  muttered  something 
which  failed  to  reach  the  rabbi's  ear.  Yet 
he  only  continued  to  think  that  he  saw  be- 
fore him  some  poor  unfortunate  whose  mind 
was  deranged.  After  a  pause,  he  added,  in 
a  still  gentler  tone :  "  What  is  your  name, 
then,  my  child  ?" 

"  God,  god,"  she  moaned,  in  the  greatest 
anguish,  "he  does  not  even  yet  know  my 


0 

name ! 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  203 

"  How  should  I  know  you,"  he  continued, 
apologetically,  "for  I  am  a  stranger  in  this 
place  ?" 

This  tender  remark  seemed  to  have  pro- 
duced the  desired  effect  upon  her  excited 
mind. 

"  My  name  is  Veile,"  she  said,  quietly,  af- 
ter a  pause. 

The  rabbi  quickly  perceived  that  he  had 
adopted  the  right  tone  towards  his  mysteri- 
ous guest. 

"  Veile,"  he  said,  approaching  nearer  her, 
"  what  do  you  wish  of  me  ?" 

"  Rabbi,  I  have  a  great  sin  resting  heavily 
upon  my  heart,"  she  replied  despondently. 
"I  do  not  know  what  to  do." 

"  What  can  you  have  done,"  inquired  the 
rabbi,  with  a  tender  look,  "  that  cannot  be 
discussed  at  any  other  time  than  just  now  ? 
Will  you  let  me  advise  you,  Veile  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  again,  violently,  "  I 
will  not  be  advised.  I  see,  I  know  what 
oppresses  me.  Yes,  I  can  grasp  it  by  the 
hand,  it  lies  so  near  before  me.  Is  that 
what  you  call  to  be  advised?" 

"Very  well,"  returned  the  rabbi,  seeing 


204  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

that  this  was  the  very  way  to  get  the  young 
woman  to  talk — "  very  well,  I  say,  you  are 
not  imagining  anything.  I  believe  that  you 
have  greatly  sinned.  Have  you  come  here 
then  to  confess  this  sin  ?  Do  your  parents 
or  your  husband  know  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  Who  is  my  husband  ?"  she  interrupted 
him,  impetuously. 

Thoughts  welled  up  in  the  rabbi's  heart 
like  a  tumultuous  sea  in  which  opposing 
conjectures  cross  and  recross  each  other's 
course.  Should  he  speak  with  her  as  with 
an  ordinary  sinner  ? 

"Were  you,  perhaps,  forced  to  be  mar- 
ried ?"  he  inquired,  as  quietly  as  possible, 
after  a  pause. 

A  suppressed  sob,  a  strong  inward  strug- 
gle, manifesting  itself  in  the  whole  trembling 
body,  was  the  only  answer  to  this  question. 

"Tell  me,  my  child,"  said  the  rabbi,  en- 
couragingly. 

In  such  tones  as  the  rabbi  had  never  be- 
fore heard,  so  strange,  so  surpassing  any  hu- 
man sounds,  the  young  woman  began  : 

"  Yes,  rabbi,  I  will  speak,  even  though  I 
know  that  I  shall  never  go  from  this  place 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  2 05 

alive,  which  would  be  the  very  best  thing  for 
me !  No,  rabbi,  I  was  not  forced  to  be  mar- 
ried. My  parents  have  never  once  said  to 
me  'you  must,'  but  my  own  will,  my  own  de- 
sire, rather,  has  always  been  supreme.  My 
husband  is  the  son  of  a  rich  man  in  the 
community.  To  enter  his  family  was  to  be 
made  the  first  lady  in  the  gasse,  to  sit  buried 
in  gold  and  silver.  And  that  very  thing, 
nothing  else,  was  what  infatuated  me  with 
him.  It  was  for  that  that  I  forced  myself, 
my  heart  and  will,  to  be  married  to  him, 
hard  as  it  was  for  me.  But  in  my  innermost 
heart  I  detested  him.  The  more  he  loved 
me,  the  more  I  hated  him.  But  the  gold 
and  silver  had  an  influence  over  me.  More 
and  more  they  cried  to  me,  *  You  will  be  the 
first  lady  in  the  gasseT  " 

"Continue,"  said  the  rabbi,  when  she 
ceased,  almost  exhausted  by  these  words. 

"  What  more  shall  I  tell  you,  rabbi  ?"  she 
began  again.  "  I  was  never  a  liar,  when  a 
child,  or  older,  and  yet  during  my  whole  en- 
gagement it  has  seemed  to  me  as  if  a  big, 
gigantic  lie  had  followed  me  step  by  step.  I 
have  seen  it  on  every  side  of  me.  But  to- 


206  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

day,  when  I  stood  under  the  chuppe,  rabbi, 
and  he  took  the  ring  from  his  finger  and  put 
it  on  mine,  and  when  I  had  to  dance  at  my 
own  wedding  with  him,  whom  I  now  recog- 
nized, now  for  the  first  time,  as  the  lie,  and 
— when  they  led  me  away — " 

This  sincere  confession  escaping  from  the 
lips  of  the  young  woman,  she  sobbed  aloud 
and  bowed  her  head  still  deeper  over  her 
breast.  The  rabbi  gazed  upon  her  in  si- 
lence. No  insane  woman  ever  spoke  like 
that !  Only  a  soul  conscious  of  its  own  sin, 
but  captivated  by  a  mysterious  power,  could 
suffer  like  this ! 

It  was  not  sympathy  which  he  felt  with 
her;  it  was  much  more  a  living  over  the 
sufferings  of  the  woman.  In  spite  of  the 
confused  story,  it  was  all  clear  to  the  rabbi. 
The  cause  of  the  flight  from  the  father's 
house  at  this  hour  also  required  no  explana- 
tion. "  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  longed 
to  say,  but  he  could  only  find  words  to  say : 
"  Speak  further,  Veile  !" 

The  young  woman  turned  towards  him.  He 
had  not  yet  seen  her  face.  The  golden  hood 
with  the  shading  lace  hung  deeply  over  it. 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  207 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  everything  ?"  she 
said,  with  a  flush  of  scorn. 

"  Everything  ?"  repeated  the  rabbi,  inquir- 
ingly. He  only  said  this,  moreover,  through 
embarrassment. 

"  Do  you  tell  me  now,"  she  cried,  at  once 
passionately  and  mildly,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  Veile !"  exclaimed  the  rabbi,  entertain- 
ing now,  for  the  first  time,  a  feeling  of  re- 
pugnance for  this  confidential  interview. 

"  Tell  me  now  !"  she  pleaded ;  and  before 
the  rabbi  could  prevent  it  the  young  woman 
threw  herself  down  at  his  feet  and  clasped 
his  knees  in  her  arms.  This  hasty  act  had 
loosened  the  golden  wedding-hood  from  her 
head,  and  thus  exposed  her  face  to  view,  a 
face  of  remarkable  beauty. 

So  overcome  was  the  young  rabbi  by  the 
sight  of  it  that  he  had  to  shade  his  eyes 
with  his  hands,  as  if  before  a  sudden  flash 
of  lightning. 

"  Tell  me  now,  what  shall  I  do  ?"  she  cried 
again.  "Do  you  think  that  I  have  come 
from  my  parents'  home  merely  to  return 
again  without  help  ?  You  alone  in  the  world 
must  tell  me.  Look  at  me!  I  have  kept 


208  MODERN    GHOSTS. 

all  my  hair  just  as  God  gave  it  me.  It  has 
never  been  touched  by  the  shears.  Should 
I,  then,  do  anything  to  please  my  husband  ? 
I  am  no  wife.  I  will  not  be  a  wife !  Tell 
me,  tell  me,  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Arise,  arise,"  bade  the  rabbi;  but  his 
voice  quivered,  sounded  almost  painful. 

"  Tell  me  first,"  she  gasped ;  "  I  will  not 
rise  till  then !" 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?"  he  moaned,  almost 
inaudibly. 

"  Naphtali !"  shrieked  the  kneeling  woman. 

But  the  rabbi  staggered  backward.  The 
room  seemed  ablaze  before  him,  like  a  bright 
fire.  A  sharp  cry  rang  from  his  breast,  as 
if  one  suffering  from  some  painful  wound 
had  been  seized  by  a  rough  hand.  In  his 
hurried  attempt  to  free  himself  from  the  em- 
brace of  the  young  woman,  who  still  clung 
to  his  knees,  it  chanced  that  her  head  struck 
heavily  against  the  floor. 

"  Naphtali !"  she  cried  once  again. 

"  Silence,  silence,"  groaned  the  rabbi, 
pressing  both  hands  against  his  head. 

And  still  again  she  called  out  this  name, 
but  not  with  that  agonizing  cry.  It  sounded 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  209 

rather  like  a  commingling  of  exultation  and 
lamentation. 

And  again  he  demanded,  "  Silence !  si- 
lence !"  but  this  time  so  imperiously,  so  forci- 
bly, that  the  young  woman  lay  on  the  floor 
as  if  conjured,  not  daring  to  utter  a  single 
word. 

The  rabbi  paced  almost  wildly  up  and 
down  the  room.  There  must  have  been  a 
hard,  terrible  struggle  in  his  breast.  It  seem- 
ed to  the  one  lying  on  the  floor  that  she  heard 
him  sigh  from  the  depths  of  his  soul.  Then 
his  pacing  became  calmer;  but  it  did  not 
last  long.  The  fierce  conflict  again  assailed 
him.  His  step  grew  hurried ;  it  echoed 
loudly  through  the  awful  stillness  of  the 
room.  Suddenly  he  neared  the  young  wom- 
an, who  seemed  to  lie  there  scarcely  breath- 
ing. He  stopped  in  front  of  her.  Had  any 
one  seen  the  face  of  the  rabbi  at  this  mo- 
ment the  expression  on  it  would  have  filled 
him  with  terror.  There  was  a  marvellous 
tranquillity  overlying  it,  the  tranquillity  of  a 
struggle  for  life  or  death. 

"Listen   to   me   now,  Veile,"  he   began, 
slowly,  "  I  will  talk  with  you." 
14 


210  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

"  I  listen,  rabbi,"  she  whispered. 

"  But  do  you  hear  me  well  ?" 

"  Only  speak,"  she  returned. 

"  But  will  you  do  what  I  advise  you  ? 
Will  you  not  oppose  it  ?  For  I  am  going  to 
say  something  that  will  terrify  you  ?" 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  you  say.  Only 
tell  me,"  she  moaned. 

"  Will  you  swear  ?" 

"  I  will,"  she  groaned. 

"  No,  do  not  swear  yet,  until  you  have 
heard  me,"  he  cried.  "I  will  not  force 
you." 

This  time  came  no  answer. 

"  Hear  me,  then,  daughter  of  Ruben  Klat- 
taner,"  he  began,  after  a  pause.  "  You  have 
a  twofold  sin  upon  your  soul,  and  each  is 
so  great,  so  criminal,  that  it  can  only  be  for- 
given by  severe  punishment.  First  you  per- 
mitted yourself  to  be  infatuated  by  the  gold 
and  silver,  and  then  you  forced  your  heart 
to  lie.  With  the  lie  you  sought  to  deceive 
the  man,  even  though  he  had  intrusted  you 
with  his  all  when  he  made  you  his  wife.  A 
lie  is  truly  a  great  sin !  Streams  of  water 
cannot  drown  them.  They  make  men  false 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  211 

and  hateful  to  themselves.  The  worst  that 
has  been  committed  in  the  world  was  led  in 
by  a  lie.  That  is  the  one  sin." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  sobbed  the  young 
woman. 

"  Now  hear  me  further,"  began  the  rabbi 
again,  with  a  wavering  voice,  after  a  short 
pause.  "  You  have  committed  a  still  great- 
er sin  than  the  first.  You  have  not  only 
deceived  your  husband,  but  you  have  also 
destroyed  the  happiness  of  another  person. 
You  could  have  spoken,  and  you  did  not. 
For  life  you  have  robbed  him  of  his  happi- 
ness, his  light,  his  joy,  but  you  did  not 
speak.  What  can  he  now  do,  when  he 
knows  what  has  been  lost  to  him  ?" 

"  Naphtali !"  cried  the  young  woman. 

"  Silence !  silence  !  do  not  let  that  name 
pass  your  lips  again,"  he  demanded,  violent- 
ly. "The  more  you  repeat  it  the  greater 
becomes  your  sin.  Why  did  you  not  speak 
when  you  could  have  spoken  ?  God  can 
never  easily  forgive  you  that.  To  be  silent, 
to  keep  secret  in  one's  breast  what  would 
have  made  another  man  happier  than  the 
mightiest  monarch!  Thereby  you  have 


212  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

made  him  more  than  unhappy.  He  will  nev- 
ermore have  the  desire  to  be  happy.  Veile, 
God  in  heaven  cannot  forgive  you  for  that." 

"  Silence  !  silence !"  groaned  the  wretched 
woman. 

"  No,  Veile,"  he  continued,  with  a  strong- 
er voice,  "  let  me  talk  now.  You  are  cer- 
tainly willing  to  hear  me  speak  ?  Listen  to 
me.  You  must  do  severe  penance  for  this 
sin,  the  twofold  sin  which  rests  upon  your 
head.  God  is  long-suffering  and  merciful. 
He  will  perhaps  look  down  upon  your  mis- 
ery, and  will  blot  out  your  guilt  from  the 
great  book  of  transgressions.  But  you 
must  become  penitent.  Hear,  now,  what  it 
shall  be." 

The  rabbi  paused.  He  was  on  the  point 
of  saying  the  severest  thing  that  had  ever 
passed  his  lips. 

"  You  were  silent,  Veile,"  then  he  cried, 
"  when  you  should  have  spoken.  Be  silent 
now  forever  to  all  men  and  to  yourself. 
From  the  moment  you  leave  this  house,  until 
I  grant  it,  you  must  be  dumb ;  you  dare 
not  let  a  loud  word  pass  from  your  mouth. 
Will  you  undergo  this  penance  ?" 


LEOPOLD   KOMPERT.  213 

"I  will  do  all  you  say,"  moaned  the 
young  woman. 

"Will  you  have  strength  to  do  it?"  he 
asked,  gently. 

"I  shall  be  as  silent  as  death,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  And  one  thing  more  I  have  to  say  to 
you,"  he  continued.  "  You  are  the  wife  of 
your  husband.  Return  home  and  be  a 
Jewish  wife." 

"  I  understand  you,"  she  sobbed  in  reply. 

"  Go  to  your  home  now,  and  bring  peace 
to  your  parents  and  husband.  The  time 
will  come  when  you  may  speak,  when  your 
sin  will  be  forgiven  you.  Till  then  bear 
what  has  been  laid  upon  you." 

"  May  I  say  one  thing  more  ?"  she  cried, 
lifting  up  her  head. 

"  Speak,"  he  said. 

"Naphtali!" 

The  rabbi  covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand, 
with  the  other  motioned  her  to  be  silent. 
But  she  grasped  his  hand,  drew  it  to  her 
lips.  Hot  tears  fell  upon  it. 

"  Go  now,"  he  sobbed,  completely  broken 
down. 


214  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

She  let  go  the  hand.  The  rabbi  had 
seized  the  candle,  but  she  had  already 
passed  him,  and  glided  through  the  dark 
hall.  The  door  was  left  open.  The  rabbi 
locked  it  again. 

Veile  returned  to  her  home,  as  she  had 
escaped,  unnoticed.  The  narrow  street  was 
deserted,  as  desolate  as  death.  The  search- 
ers were  to  be  found  everywhere  except 
there  where  they  ought  first  to  have  sought 
for  the  missing  one.  Her  mother,  Selde, 
still  sat  on  the  same  chair  on  which  she  had 
sunk  down  an  hour  ago.  The  fright  had 
left  her  like  one  paralyzed,  and  she  was  un- 
able to  rise.  What  a  wonderful  contrast 
this  wedding-room,  with  the  mother  sitting 
alone  in  it,  presented  to  the  hilarity  reign- 
ing here  shortly  before !  On  Veile's  en- 
trance her  mother  did  not  cry  out.  She 
had  no  strength  to  do  so.  She  merely  said : 
"  So  you  have  come  at  last,  my  daughter  ?" 
as  if  Veile  had  only  returned  from  a  walk 
somewhat  too  long.  But  the  young  woman 
did  not  answer  to  this  and  similar  ques- 
tions. Finally  she  signified  by  gesticula- 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  215 

tions  that  she  could  not  speak.  Fright 
seized  the  wretched  mother  a  second  time, 
and  the  entire  house  was  filled  with  her 
lamentations. 

Ruben  Klattaner  and  Veile's  husband 
having  now  returned  from  their  fruitless 
search,  were  horrified  on  perceiving  the 
change  which  Veile  had  undergone.  Being 
men,  they  did  not  weep.  With  staring  eyes 
they  gazed  upon  the  silent  young  woman, 
and  beheld  in  her  an  apparition  which  had 
been  dealt  with  by  God's  visitation  in  a 
mysterious  manner. 

From  this  hour  began  the  terrible  pen- 
ance of  the  young  woman. 

The  impression  which  Veile's  woful  con- 
dition made  upon  the  people  of  the  gasse 
was  wonderful.  Those  who  had  danced 
with  her  that  evening  of  the  wedding  now 
first  recalled  her  excited  state.  Her  wild 
actions  were  now  first  remembered  by  many. 
It  must  have  been  an  "  evil  eye,"  they  con- 
cluded—  a  jealous,  evil  eye,  to  which  her 
beauty  was  hateful.  This  alone  could  have 
possessed  her  with  a  demon  of  unrest.  She 
was  driven  by  this  evil  power  into  the  dark 


2l6  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

night,  a  sport  of  these  malicious  potencies 
which  pursue  men  step  by  step,  especially 
on  such  occasions.  The  living  God  alone 
knows  what  she  must  have  seen  that  night. 
Nothing  good,  else  one  would  not  become 
dumb.  Old  legends  and  tales  were  revived, 
each  more  horrible  than  the  other.  Hun- 
dreds of  instances  were  given  to  prove  that 
this  was  nothing  new  in  the  gasse.  Despite 
this  explanation,  it  is  remarkable  that  the 
people  did  not  believe  that  the  young  wom- 
an was  dumb.  The  most  thought  that  her 
power  of  speech  had  been  paralyzed  by 
some  awful  fright,  but  that  with  time  it 
would  be  restored.  Under  this  supposition 
they  called  her  "  Veile  the  Silent." 

There  is  a  kind  of  human  eloquence  more 
telling,  more  forcible  than  the  loudest  words, 
than  the  choicest  diction  —  the  silence  of 
woman !  Ofttimes  they  cannot  endure  the 
slightest  vexation,  but  some  great,  heart- 
breaking sorrow,  some  pain  from  constant 
renunciation,  self-sacrifice,  they  suffer  with 
sealed  lips — as  if,  in  very  truth,  they  were 
bound  with  bars  of  iron. 

Jt  would  be  difficult  to  fully  describe  tint 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  217 

long  "silent"  life  of  the  young  woman.  It 
is  almost  impossible  to  cite  more  than  one 
incident.  Veile  accompanied  her  husband 
to  his  home,  that  house  resplendent  with 
that  gold  and  silver  which  had  infatuated 
her.  She  was,  to  be  sure,  the  "  first "  wom- 
an in  the  gasse ;  she  had  everything  in  abun- 
dance. Indeed,  the  world  supposed  that  she 
had  but  little  cause  for  complaint.  "Must 
one  have  everything  ?"  was  sometimes  que- 
ried in  the  gasse.  "One  has  one  thing; 
another,  another."  And,  according  to  all 
appearances,  the  people  were  right.  Veile 
continued  to  be  the  beautiful,  blooming 
woman.  Her  penance  of  silence  did  not 
deprive  her  of  a  single  charm.  She  was  so 
very  happy,  indeed,  that  she  did  not  seem 
to  feel  even  the  pain  of  her  punishment. 
Veile  could  laugh  and  rejoice,  but  never  did 
she  forget  to  be  silent.  The  seemingly  happy 
days,  however,  were  only  qualified  to  bring 
about  the  proper  time  of  trials  and  tempta- 
tions. The  beginning  was  easy  enough  for 
her,  the  middle  and  end  were  times  of  real 
pain.  The  first  years  of  their  wedded  life 
were  childless.  "  It  is  well,"  the  people  in 


2l8  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

the  gasse  said,  "that  she  has  no  children, 
and  God  has  rightly  ordained  it  to  be  so. 
A  mother  who  cannot  talk  to  her  child,  that 
would  be  something  awful !"  Unexpectedly 
to  all,  she  rejoiced  one  day  in  the  birth  of  a 
daughter.  And  when  that  affectionate  young 
creature,  her  own  offspring,  was  laid  upon 
her  breast,  and  the  first  sounds  were  uttered 
by  its  lips — that  nameless,  eloquent  utter- 
ance of  an  infant — she  forgot  herself  not ; 
she  was  silent ! 

She  was  silent  also  when  from  day  to  day 
that  child  blossomed  before  her  eyes  into 
fuller  beauty.  Nor  had  she  any  words  for  it 
when,  in  effusions  of  tenderness,  it  stretched 
forth  its  tiny  arms,  when  in  burning  fever  it 
sought  for  the  mother's  hand.  For  days — 
yes,  weeks — together  she  watched  at  its  bed- 
side. Sleep  never  visited  her  eyes.  But 
she  ever  remembered  her  penance. 

Years  fled  by.  In  her  arms  she  carried 
another  child.  It  was  a  boy.  The  father's 
joy  was  great.  The  child  inherited  its  moth- 
er's beauty.  Like  its  sister,  it  grew  in  health 
and  strength.  The  noblest,  richest  mother, 
they  said,  might  be  proud  of  such  children ! 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  219 

And  Veile  was  proud,  no  doubt,  but  this 
never  passed  her  lips.  She  remained  si- 
lent about  things  which  mothers  in  their 
joy  often  cannot  find  words  enough  to  ex- 
press. And  although  her  face  many  times 
lighted  up  with  beaming  smiles,  yet  she  never, 
renounced  the  habitual  silence  imposed  upon 
her. 

The  idea  that  the  slightest  dereliction  of 
her  penance  would  be  accompanied  with  a 
curse  upon  her  children  may  have  impressed 
itself  upon  her  mind.  Mothers  will  under- 
stand better  than  other  persons  what  this 
mother  suffered  from  her  penalty  of  silence. 

Thus  a  part  of  those  years  sped  away 
which  we  are  wont  to  call  the  best.  She 
still  flourished  in  her  wonderful  beauty.  Her 
maiden  daughter  was  beside  her,  like  the 
bud  beside  the  full-blown  rose.  Suitors 
were  already  present  from  far  and  near,  who 
passed  in  review  before  the  beautiful  girl. 
The  most  of  them  were  excellent  young 
men,  and  any  mother  might  have  been  proud 
in  having  her  own  daughter  sought  by  such. 
Even  then  Veile  did  not  undo  her  penance. 
Those  busy  times  of  intercourse  which  keep 


220  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

mothers  engaged  in  presenting  the  superi- 
orities of  their  daughters  in  the  best  light 
were  not  allowed  her.  The  choice  of  one  of 
the  most  favored  suitors  was  made.  Never 
before  did  any  couple  in  the  gasse  equal  this 
in  beauty  and  grace.  A  few  weeks  before 
the  appointed  time  for  the  wedding  a  malig- 
nant disease  stole  on,  spreading  sorrow  and 
anxiety  over  the  greater  part  of  the  land. 
Young  girls  were  principally  its  victims.  It 
seemed  to  pass  scornfully  over  the  aged  and 
infirm.  Veile's  daughter  was  also  laid  hold 
upon  by  it.  Before  three  days  had  passed 
there  was  a  corpse  in  the  house — the  bride ! 
Even  then  Veile  did  not  forget  her  pen- 
ance. When  they  bore  away  the  corpse  to 
the  "  good  place,"  she  did  utter  a  cry  of  an- 
guish which  long  after  echoed  in  the  ears  of 
the  people ;  she  did  wring  her  hands  in  de- 
spair, but  no  one  heard  a  word  of  complaint. 
Her  lips  seemed  dumb  forever.  It  was  then, 
when  she  was  seated  on  the  low  stool  in  the 
seven  days  of  mourning,  that  the  rabbi  came 
to  her,  to  bring  to  her  the  usual  consolation 
for  the  dead.  But  he  did  not  speak  with 
her.  He  addressed  words  only  to  her  hus- 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  221 

band.  She  herself  dared  not  look  up.  Only 
when  he  turned  to  go  did  she  lift  her  eyes. 
They,  in  turn,  met  the  eyes  of  the  rabbi,  but 
he  departed  without  a  farewell. 

After  her  daughter's  death  Veile  was  com- 
pletely broken  down.  Even  that  which  at 
her  time  of  life  is  still  called  beauty  had 
faded  away  within  a  few  days.  Her  cheeks 
had  become  hollow,  her  hair  gray.  Visitors 
wondered  how  she  could  endure  such  a 
shock,  how  body  and  spirit  could  hold  to- 
gether. They  did  not  know  that  that  si- 
lence was  an  iron  fetter  firmly  imprison- 
ing the  slumbering  spirits.  She  had  a  son, 
moreover,  to  whom,  as  to  something  last  and 
dearest,  her  whole  being  still  clung. 

The  boy  was  thirteen  years  old.  His 
learning  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  was  already 
celebrated  for  miles  around.  He  was  the 
pupil  of  the  rabbi,  who  had  treated  him  with 
a  love  and  tenderness  becoming  his  own 
father.  He  said  that  he  was  a  remarkable 
child,  endowed  with  rare  talents.  The  boy 
was  to  be  sent  to  Hungary,  to  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  teachers  of  the  times,  in 
order  to  lay  the  foundation  for  his  sacred 


222  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

studies  under  this  instructor's  guidance  and 
wisdom.  Years  might  perhaps  pass  before 
she  would  see  him  again.  But  Veile  let  her 
boy  go  from  her  embrace.  She  did  not  say 
a  blessing  over  him  when  he  went ;  only  her 
lips  twitched  with  the  pain  of  silence. 

Long  years  expired  before  the  boy  re- 
turned from  the  strange  land,  a  full-grown, 
noble  youth.  When  Veile  had  her  son  with 
her  again  a  smile  played  about  her  mouth, 
and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  her  former 
beauty  had  enjoyed  a  second  spring.  The 
extraordinary  ability  of  her  son  already  made 
him  famous.  Wheresoever  he  went  people 
were  delighted  with  his  beauty,  and  admired 
the  modesty  of  his  manner,  despite  such 
great  scholarship. 

The  next  Sabbath  the  young  disciple  of 
the  Talmud,  scarcely  twenty  years  of  age, 
was  to  demonstrate  the  first  marks  of  this 
great  learning. 

The  people  crowded  shoulder  to  shoulder 
in  this  great  synagogue.  Curious  glances 
were  cast  through  the  lattice-work  of  the 
women's  gallery  above  upon  the  dense 
throng.  Veile  occupied  one  of  the  foremost 


LEOPOLD   KOMPERT.  223 

seats.  She  could  see  everything  that  took 
place  below.  Her  face  was  extremely  pale. 
All  eyes  were  turned  towards  her  —  the 
mother,  who  was  permitted  to  see  such  a  day 
for  her  son !  But  Veile  did  not  appear  to 
notice  what  was  happening  before  her.  A 
weariness,  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before, 
even  in  her  greatest  suffering,  crept  over  her 
limbs.  It  was  as  if  she  must  sleep  during 
her  son's  address.  He  had  hardly  mounted 
the  stairs  before  the  ark  of  the  laws — hardly 
uttered  his  first  words — when  a  remarkable 
change  crossed  her  face.  Her  cheeks  burn- 
ed. She  arose.  All  her  vital  energy  seemed 
aroused.  Her  son  meanwhile  was  speaking 
down  below.  She  could  not  have  told  what 
he  was  saying.  She  did  not  hear  him — she 
only  heard  the  murmur  of  approbation,  some- 
times low,  sometimes  loud,  which  came  to 
her  ears  from  the  quarters  of  the  men.  The 
people  were  astonished  at  the  noble  bear- 
ing of  the  speaker,  his  melodious  speech, 
and  his  powerful  energy.  When  he  stopped 
at  certain  times  to  rest  it  seemed  as  if  one 
were  in  a  wood  swept  by  a  storm.  She 
could  now  and  then  hear  a  few  voices 


224  MODERN   GHOSTS. 

declaring  that  such  a  one  had  never  before 
been  listened  to.  The  women  at  her  side 
wept ;  she  alone  could  not.  A  choking  pain 
pressed  from  her  breast  to  her  lips.  Forces 
were  astir  in  her  heart  which  struggled  for 
expression.  The  whole  synagogue  echoed 
with  buzzing  voices,  but  to  her  it  seemed  as 
if  she  must  speak  louder  than  these.  At 
the  very  moment  her  son  had  ended  she 
cried  out  unconsciously,  violently  throwing 
herself  against  the  lattice-work  : 

"  God !  living  God !  shall  I  not  now 
speak  ?"  A  dead  silence  followed  this  out- 
cry. Nearly  all  had  recognized  this  voice 
as  that  of  the  "  silent  woman."  A  miracle 
had  taken  place ! 

"  Speak !  speak !"  resounded  the  answer  of 
the  rabbi  from  the  men's  seats  below.  "  You 
may  now  speak !" 

But  no  reply  came.  Veile  had  fallen  back 
into  her  seat,  pressing  both  hands  against 
her  breast.  When  the  women  sitting  beside 
her  looked  at  her  they  were  terrified  to  find 
that  the  "  silent  woman"  had  fainted.  She 
was  dead!  The  unsealing  of  her  lips  was 
her  last  moment. 


LEOPOLD    KOMPERT.  2 25 

Long  years  afterwards  the  rabbi  died.  On 
his  death-bed  he  told  those  standing  about 
him  this  wonderful  penance  of  Veile. 

Every  girl  in  the  gasse  knew  the  story  of 
the  "  silent  woman." 


THE  END. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL    FINE    OF    25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO'CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


SEP 


1934 


OCT  26  1934 


NOV 


MAR  10t941M 


RECTDLD 
JUL  18  1959 


RtC'D  LD 

JAN  11 '65 -11  AM 

MAY 2  5  J970  2  9 


•'8 


